


Welcome to the Madness

by basilique



Series: Sex and Other Madnesses [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Americana, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassin Otabek, Bad Boys, Bisexual Otabek, Blow Jobs With Teeth, Bottom Yuri Plisetsky, Butt Plugs, Cliffhangers, Cockfighting, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Contact, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, GANG WARS ;D, Gang Leader Viktor Nikiforov, Gang Violence, Gang wars and bad boys doing gay shit, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Honor, Kidnapped Yuuri, King Jean-Jacques Leroy, Lap Sex, Lapdance, Leather Jackets, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Moaning, Neck Kissing, Overhearing Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rites of Passage, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sexual Addiction, Shooting Guns, Sibling Incest, Smut, Strip Tease, Stripper Katsuki Yuuri, Suspense, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Viktor Nikiforov masturbates, Welcome to the Madness aesthetic, Whipping, Yuri Plisetsky feels, badass Otabek, lots of property damage, open-backed underwear, protective Otabek, territory gang wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilique/pseuds/basilique
Summary: The ritual is tonight. Otabek will take Yuri’s virginity, and the gang, which has protected Yuri from the town’s violence all his life, will finally welcome him into the madness.Meanwhile, rival gang leader Viktor Nikiforov is busy courting a stripper called Katsuki Yuuri.





	1. The Angels

Yuri Plisetsky is not afraid. 

He has always known this day would come; his formal initiation into the arms of the Angels. 

It isn’t death. But it’s meant to be something like it. An enormous humiliation, meant to break him a little so that he would heal stronger. Meant to make him learn obedience, and what it meant to give your pride, your body, even your blood for the gang. 

It isn’t meant to be entirely torture, or to be entirely pleasure, this rite of passage. It is a sort of blood oath: I will place the gang above all else in the world, through what pleasure and pain may come. 

Yuri had been raised by the Angels. He knew their rituals inside out. And he had always known that one day he would have his turn to be initiated. And now that the day is here, he is ready for it. He is 16 and half years old, and he is burning to take his place as a fighter, a provider, and a guardian of the Angels. 

He will be initiated by Otabek, the gang’s youngest leader; a legendary sharp shooter that Yuri had known all his life. And the gang, which has protected Yuri from the town's violence since his birth, will finally welcome him into the madness. 

Otabek is nineteen now; serious, proud, and, to his enemies, extremely dangerous. He and Yuri had grown-up together in these streets, and together with the other children of the Angels, they had fought countless vicious battles against the children of the Skins, the Roosters, and other rival gangs. 

Yuri had loved battle, thrived on it. He had always been full of spit and fury, and he had fought with all of his scrappy body: teeth and nails and soul. 

Otabek, on the other hand, had always been quiet. Where Yuri’s fight crackled off of his skin like electricity, Otabek’s was coiled deep inside of him like a powerful and patient snake. His venom was deadly, but he knew better than to waste it on the fights that didn’t really count. When he had been initiated to the Angels at the age of sixteen, he had been given the nickname “Cobra”. 

One day, they said, he would strike. He would strike for the good of the Angels and nothing would ever be the same in Havenport. 

Five years ago, Otabek and Yuri had been walking alone at night, and when Yuri had started a fight with a group of Skin kids for no reason at all, Otabek had stayed back in the shadows. He had let the other boys brutalize Yuri, kick and punch him until Yuri thought he was going to die. It was only then that Otabek had reacted. He was bigger than most of the Skin boys, and he had stepped into the light of a streetlamp, calmly pulling a pistol from inside his shirt. He had rolled up the sleeve of his right arm as he cocked the pistol, revealing a tattoo of a black cobra coiled around his forearm, and the other boys had fled for their lives. That tattoo, and Otabek’s steady gun hand, were already famous all across town. 

Yuri had understood why Otabek had waited until the last minute to save him. It was the responsibility of older Angels to teach younger ones to think before they acted, no matter how painful the lesson. 

But a strange thing had passed between them then. As the other boys ran away and Yuri slumped back against a wall, his head spinning and his face hot and smarting with blood, Otabek had stepped up to him and brushed his thumb through the blood that was trickling down from his nose over his lips. He had looked at it like he had never seen blood before. And he looked ashamed, and like he regretted letting Yuri get hurt like this, the gang’s lessons be damned. 

“You know you’ve got to be more careful, Kitten,” he had said after a few quiet moments. “Violence follows you like flies follow sugar. One day, you’ll be initiated, and get into some real fights, and then what’s gonna happen to you?” 

Yuri hadn’t answered, stunned dumb by the pain in his whole body, and with indignance at being called by his baby nickname, and by the intense beating of his heart. 

Otabek was inscrutable, and Yuri couldn’t tell what he was thinking in that moment, but he had thought that he saw emotion wrinkle Otabek’s fierce young brow. 

“Remember this:” Otabek had said, looking hard into his eyes with his thumb on Yuri’s bleeding lip, “when it’s your turn to be initiated, I want to be the one to do it. I know we’re not supposed to plan who it’ll be. But I’ll volunteer, if you tell me now that you want me to. I’ll be old enough.” Otabek had swallowed, and looked down for a moment. “And I don’t trust anybody else to do it.” 

*

Yuri slips quietly in the side entrance of an abandoned seaside inn. Outside, Otabek's motorcycle is parked against the wall. The sky is hot with the colors of the sunset, and the seafoam, rolling into the beach on gentle waves, looks red. 

He knows this building; it’s a meeting place for the Angels, situated safely in the middle of their territory, and he knows that plenty of members have been initiated in the basement. It is here that he and Otabek have been told to meet. Everyone knows where they are and what they will be doing. Many of them, Yuri thinks with mixture of gratitude and embarrassment, are probably praying for him right now. 

Yuri tries to act casual, to seem calm, as he walks down the stairs into the basement. He jams his hands into his pockets and jerks his head in greeting to Otabek, who is sitting on the leather sofa there in the dark, waiting for him. 

Yuri is not afraid, so why is he afraid? He's not afraid of losing his virginity. He's certainly not afraid of pain. 

Is he afriad because of Otabek’s dark eyes, his full lips, his rough-fingered hands? Is it because of the smell of him, that leather and cologne smell of an old playmate, role model, gang brother, friend? 

Is he afraid because he knows Otabek intends to be gentle? Because he knows Otabek actually wanted, and after all these years, still wants to be the one to do this? 

Is he afraid because he's happy that it's Otabek? 

If he's not afraid that it's gonna hurt, is he afraid...that it might feel good?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more coming soon! :)
> 
> I post a lot of fanfiction-related stuff on my tumblr: basilique.tumblr.com


	2. Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek moves slowly, deliberately, like a wildcat stalking pray. And Yuri stands, shaking, his slender chest rising and falling hard, his limbs tensed as though preparing for a fight. Otabek takes a few more unhurried steps toward him. And then, looking into Yuri’s eyes, he slides forward all at once, silent and unstoppable, and pins Yuri up against the wall.

The boy before Otabek is shaking. He is scared, Otabek can tell; his hands jammed into his pockets, and his eyes lowered. He is scared of what they are going to do, but he would never admit that out loud. 

Yuri is slender and lanky, as he always has been. But he is coming into his muscle, and with his unconscious grace and fast reflexes, he will make a formidable gang fighter, and soon. He is smart and perceptive too; one day, if he learn to temper his spite and think before he acts, he may even make a fine leader. 

Yuri has a bone to pick with this town, and with the entire world, although he has never seen more than this tiny sliver of it. 

Neither Yuri nor Otabek has ever been outside this a bloodied beach town, a place of disappointed immigrant families; Italians, Russians, Moroccans, Slovakians, Mexicans, and others, many of whom came with wealth, and lost it somewhere along the line. They lost it to gambling, alcohol, and other types of robbery. And now the only signs of affluence in Havenport are in the gaudy seasonal processions for Jesus and the Virgin Mary, and in the fine black liquors that the gangs guard from one another with murderous jealousy, and pawn to wealthy tourists each summer at the pop-up carnival beside the beach. 

No, Yuri has never been outside of this town. But he would die for it, and for the honor of the Angels who raised him, without thinking twice. Yuri’s grandfather was an Angel, as was his fierce, single spitfire of a mother. And when they were both murdered, the Angels had brought him up, clumsy and ardent as a pack of wolves. They had called him Kitten. And the nickname still stuck, much to Yuri’s annoyance. 

Yuri wants to be a man, but he has a long way to go before he gets there. He is blaringly adolescent; peevish, arrogant, and full of unchecked rage. 

And the glory of the Angels is not something for impulsive teenagers to fight for. 

Tonight, it is Otabek’s job to mark Yuri’s passage into manhood. To give him the pain, the surrender, and the understanding of the ways of the world that will make him ready to learn the life of a soldier. But is he sure that he can do it? 

Otabek had wanted this task. Wanted it with an intense, uncompromising desire of the sort that he did not normally allow himself to feel. 

He is Yuri’s protector. He has been so in his mind, ever since he saw Yuri’s blood on that night five years ago when Yuri’s stupidity had nearly gotten him killed. He is Yuri’s protector, and he had wanted this task both because of and in spite of that fact. He doesn’t trust any of his gang brothers to take Yuri's virginity the right way. But he isn’t sure that he trusts himself to do it either. 

Something about the sight of Yuri’s blood on that night had shaken a piece loose in Otabek. And it has never healed. 

Yuri raises his eyes in the semidarkness. Defiant, afraid, a chilling pale green. He looks at Otabek for the first time since coming in, and there is challenge in his pinched face, in his lean, frightened body. “Well?” he says harshly. “Are we going to do this or not?” 

Outside, there is a peel of warm thunder, a harbringer of a storm rolling in from the sea. 

Otabek stands up and takes a step toward Yuri. He knows Yuri through and through, and Yuri does not want to see him doubting himself. Yuri wants Otabek to take control in this situation, wants Otabek to set clear expectations for him, so that he can either reject them or blow them out of the water. 

Otabek moves slowly, deliberately, like a wildcat stalking pray. And Yuri stands, shaking, his slender chest rising and falling hard, his limbs tensed as though preparing for a fight. 

Otabek takes a few more unhurried steps toward him. And then, looking into Yuri’s eyes, he slides forward all at once, silent and unstoppable, and pins Yuri up against the wall. 

Yuri gasps. He twists his wrists reflexively in Otabek’s grip as Otabek presses them to the wall above his head. But he stops fighting after only a moment, staring up at Otabek, his mouth slightly open with shock. 

Otabek holds his gaze for a moment, and then lets his eyes close, and rests his forehead against Yuri’s. 

“Yura,” he whispers, “listen to me. If you do not want to do this, I will not make you. There are some customs that are not always right. I will lie to the others if you ask that of me, and take it to my grave.” 

“ _No_!” says Yuri, so savagely that Otabek’s eyes open with mild surprise. “You cannot deny me this. I am going to become a man, and you are going to do it. Do not be gentle with me, Otabek! Don’t you _dare_ be gentle with me.” 

A sensation of heat shoots through Otabek’s hips, his stomach, his throat, and he presses his body up against Yuri’s. He slides Yuri’s wrists down the wall as he leans in for Yuri’s neck, bites a pinch of Yuri’s skin and drags his teeth over it. 

Yuri gasps, and sucks in air through his teeth. Otabek feels his wrists flex as his hands curl into fists, so he bites him again, on the part of his collarbone that is bared by his skewed muscle shirt. 

He lifts Yuri’s left hand to his mouth, and Yuri lets his fist soften and go limp as Otabek bites the white leather of his fingerless glove, and yanks it off with his teeth. Yuri’s chest rises and falls heavily, his breathing hard, as he watches Otabek, and Otabek meets his gaze as he does the same with the other glove, and tosses it aside with his teeth. 


	3. A Dozen Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Yura…_ ” Otabek shoves into him, harder and deeper every time, and Yuri feels like he is going to lose his mind, with the splitting ache of the pleasure, and the tenderness between the two of them that he can’t _stand_.
> 
> He grasps at the roses splayed out above his head, and tears them apart to keep still, bites at the blooms to keep from screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning:
> 
> Consensual light choking

Otabek has had sex before, with plenty of men and women, but he has never felt a heat like the one that sweeps through him now. It passes between them in that look, and Otabek can see Yuri feeling it too. It’s like a fever, a good but deadly fever, and they are giving it to each other. A sweat is breaking out between Otabek’s shoulder blades under his leather jacket, and he feels shaky and hot.

He slides the jacket off of Yuri’s shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, and Yuri sways on the spot, his knees going weak.

“Beka--” he starts to gasp. But Otabek’s hands are already sliding up under his shirt, Otabek’s arms wrapping around his slender waist. Their faces press together, and they are kissing, open-mouthed and desperate, as Otabek runs rough fingertips over Yuri’s chest, his ribs, his waist, marveling at his shape, at the milky smoothness of his skin.

Yuri moans into the kiss, and the sound rips through Otabek like a bullet. He clutches Yuri against him fiercely, knocking all the air out of Yuri’s lungs.

There is another peel of thunder outside, and the beginnings of a patter of rain on the tin roof of the abandoned inn. It picks up quickly, and after only a few moments, it has become a tempest, with wind howling and rain hurling down, thick and thorough.

Otabek pinches Yuri’s nipple, earning him another moan straight into his mouth. He rolls it between his fingers to feel Yuri twist, and Yuri’s fingernails rake up over the shoulders of his leather jacket, over his cheeks, into his hair.

Yuri winds his fingers into Otabek’s thick black hair, his arms wrapping around Otabek’s neck. And if there is a Heaven, Otabek thinks, it will involve Yuri Plisetsky’s arms around his neck.

They moan into each others mouths, and every one of Yuri’s sounds shoots through Otabek to throb between his legs. He is burning up in his leather pants, his cock stiff and hot. And he can feel Yuri’s hardness, too, pressed hungrily against his thigh.

With a grunt of effort, Otabek pulls away from Yuri’s wonderful mouth. He bends down to wrap his arms around Yuri’s thighs, and lifts him. He carries him across the room, to the soft-carpeted floor that is framed and hidden from the basement stairs by two plush couches.

*

Men don’t kiss during the gang's initiations. They don’t rake their fingers through each others hair or rub together through their clothes. This is not normal, Yuri knows, what he and Otabek are doing.

But he doesn’t care. He has never wanted anything so badly.

Yuri doesn’t want Otabek to let go of him for a minute. He wraps his legs around Otabek’s waist and locks his ankles, so that Otabek has to drop to his knees, and lower himself down on top of Yuri as he lays him back on the rug. Yuri presses his hips up against Otabek’s, and lets his hands fall back over his head in surrender.

Otabek is pulling Yuri’s pants off. He’s making no move to remove his own clothes, but Yuri doesn’t care. He wants to be helpless, to be a naked prize for Otabek to do what he wants with. His socks are gone, his muscle shirt stretched off over his arms, and Otabek is sliding his underwear down around his knees.

“ _Yura…_ ” Otabek breathes, something like adoration in his voice, and his hand floats down to rest, still and light, on Yuri’s cock.

“ _Ohh--_!” Yuri gasps, as the touch, so alien and strange, sends a ripple through all of him.

When Otabek lifts his hand away, Yuri’s cock is on fire.

“More, Beka,” he gasps, an unfamiliar tone of pleading in his own voice. “More... _please_ …I’m ready… _ohhhh_ …I want…”

Otabek growls with desire, and wrenches a condom and a tube of lubricant out of his back pocket. He spreads lube over Yuri’s cock first, and strokes him a little, soothing him with the coolness and the rubbing. Then he undoes his own pants, and Yuri watches in the room’s half-light as he pulls out his own cock; thick, and swollen with arousal, unrolls the condom over it, and slides it through the lube in his fist.

Then Otabek’s slicked fingers are pressing inside of him, one at a time, working him open, and Yuri can’t help it; he twists and lets out little cries of pleasure. Otabek’s fingers are thick, and rough, and experienced, and Yuri has never felt anything like this before. “Ah… _ahh..._ ” His back arches, and he clenches his teeth.

His hand, flung back over his head…brushes against something strange.

It feels like the stem of a flower.

Yuri is too distracted to care what is going on around him at this moment. But Otabek pauses, and reaches up with his free hand to the floor over Yuri’s head.

He brings back a bouquet of roses. Red. And Yuri gapes at him, chest still heaving, confused. Otabek’s expression is still, and as always, nearly unreadable. But there is something in his eyes, something tender and almost vulnerable.

He lays the roses down on Yuri’s chest. “For you,” he says simply.

Yuri gawks at him. No one has ever given him flowers before. It makes an uncomfortable burning sensation start in Yuri’s heart. He doesn’t know what to do with it or where to put it, so he sets the flowers back on the floor behind his head and sits up to shove his body against Otabek’s.

He grasps Otabek’s wrist to push Otabek’s fingers deeper inside of him. He grabs at Otabek’s other hand, the one that gave him the roses, and wraps it around his own throat. He pulls Otabek down on top of him and lets his every muscle go limp. He looks into Otabek’s eyes, trying to show his surrender in just his look, to show Otabek that he is his to do anything he wants with.

“For you,” Yuri rasps.

Otabek grasps him fiercely by the hips and flips him over.

There’s a blunt pressure at Yuri’s ass, and then Otabek is pressing inside of him, and Yuri hears himself let out something like a scream of pleasure. He claps a hand over his mouth, mortified, but he doesn’t have long to dwell on it, because the sensation of Otabek’s cock in him is drowning out everything else.

The sound of the rain outside is just a numb, distant beating.

Otabek sinks in deeper, and the feeling of that hot flesh, throbbing through the thin condom, is all that Yuri cares about in the world. It stretches him, and it hurts, but Yuri _loves_ it.

Otabek pulls out a little, and shoves back in with a low groan. His mouth is on the back of Yuri’s neck. The smell of his cologne is all around Yuri, mingling with the perfume of the roses. He starts to sink into a rhythm, one hand on the floor beside him for leverage, and the other wrapped around Yuri’s throat.

“ _Yura…_ ” Otabek shoves into him, harder and deeper every time, and Yuri feels like he is going to lose his mind, with the splitting ache of the pleasure, and the tenderness between the two of them that he can’t _stand_.

He grasps at the roses splayed out above his head, and tears them apart to keep still, bites at the blooms to keep from screaming.

His cock is rubbing against the soft rug below him as Otabek makes his hips move, and the soft, hot friction is going to make him cum. Otabek is moaning, shoving into him more and more roughly.

Yuri can feel a sharp pain inside his ass, more intense with each rough thrust, and he knows that he must be bleeding. But he is not going to tell Otabek that, for the risk that he will stop.

Yuri _wants_ to bleed for him. And only him. Only him, ever.

“Beka, I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, and Otabek snarls with lust, his hand tightening around Yuri’s throat. His hips grind Yuri’s down into the floor, and Yuri’s body spasms with pleasure. He screams again, unable to stop himself, as he loses control of his body in a wave of ecstacy and cums in the carpet.

Otabek follows Yuri over the edge, powerless against his screams. He shoves into him over and over again as he cums, so roughly that Yuri sees stars.

The roses are a torn and bitten mess in Yuri’s hands, his forearms streaked with red. He can taste them on his lips, in his mouth.

Yuri has never felt so high. He moans, drifting and lost in a dreamy paradise, as Otabek flips him over and kisses his chest, collarbone, and neck, his breath ragged and wrecked against Yuri’s skin.

After a little while, Otabek lifts Yuri and carries him to the couch. He lays him out carefully. Then he lies down by his side and pulls the couch’s old blankets over them. Yuri adjusts to lay his cheek on Otabek’s chest, and Otabek wraps his arms around Yuri’s slender body, and they fall asleep like that, the space between them full of a tenderness that neither of them can bear.

*

They are both awakened, no more than a few hours later, by a crash from upstairs.

It's still the middle of the night, and Yuri jerks instantly into fight or flight, grasping around for the shiv that Otabek knows he normally sleeps with. But Otabek shooshes him quickly.

“Wait,” he murmurs. They both listen, dead silent, to the sound of footsteps across the floor above them. There is something heavy being dragged across the floor, and when it stops, almost directly above them, they can hear men talking in low, urgent voices.

Otabek sits up, but Yuri grasps a handful of his t-shirt. “No,” he hisses.

“Stay here,” Otabek whispers back.

He pries Yuri’s fingers out of his shirt, kisses him on the lips, and stands up. His pistol is on the coffee table, and he tucks it into his jacket.

“I’m coming with you,” Yuri hisses, but Otabek shakes his head. “You’re naked. And you’ll barely be able to walk. _Stay here_ , Kitten.”

Yuri watches with fierce anxiety as Otabek makes his way to the stairs and ascends them, as silent as the night, with one hand tucked into his jacket, resting on his gun.


	4. Taking Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minako stares at him like he is an idiot.
> 
> “Yuuri, it’s very likely that you _are_ the trouble. The Angels would sell their souls to have some leverage over Viktor Nikiforov. Fuck me, I should have been expecting something like this.”
> 
> Yuuri’s eyes widen with shock and sudden terror. “You think they’re here…for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: 
> 
> Violence  
> Guns shots  
> Choking (during a fight)

Katsuki Yuuri is hanging upside down in a tie and a glittering black thong, his thighs clenched around a pole. 

He's made his way out of his cummerbund, his coat and tails, his black lace mask. It's Saturday night, Carnival Night at the beachside club run by his gang, the Hornets, and Minako had decided there were enough women in the audience tonight to order "Eros" to the stage. 

Yuuri's not the _best_ stripper in the gang. But he has a certain unconscious natural charm that the female tourists love. He's good for adding a little variety and surprise to the night, keeping the drinks pouring and the gambling tables full, and giving Yuuko a rest from her endless encore performances. 

The Hornets keep their heads down, making each year's money off of the summer beach tourists and spending the rest of the year trying to keep it hidden from the larger gangs. They're more interested in survival than in glory, and for generations they have managed to slip by with enough money, unnoticed by the powerful. 

But all of that is starting to change now. 

And it's all because a few months ago, the leader of the Skins saw Yuuri practicing a new routine through the broken window of an old warehouse. 

Viktor Nikiforov is Havenport's living legend. Under his leadership, the Skins have gained more money, territory, power, and notoriety than any other gang in the history of the town. They say he has connections to the Russian Mafia, that he controls gangs in other cities, that he may even be exiled Russian royalty. 

And now somehow, inexplicably, he is eating out of the palm of Yuuri's hand. 

They have fallen desperately in love. And Viktor has sworn the Hornets under the protection of the Skins. 

So for better and worse, the anonymity of the Hornets is over. And _Yuuri_ , of all people, is the one responsible. 

Yuuri swings himself off of the pole, spins around it once more, and takes a bow. 

*

Yuuri’s first clue that something is wrong comes when Yuuko appears in the doorway of his dressing room. 

She’s in costume, a glittering gold negligée with a plunging neckline. And out on the stage, he can hear the drumroll to her next performance starting. 

_She’s late for her cue._

“Yuuri, I think you should talk to Minako,” she says, her voice an octave higher than usual with stress. “Phicit saw Angels in your crowd. They were wearing masks, but he’s pretty sure he recognized them, and--” 

Minako appears in the doorway behind her, and interrupts, her tone urgent. “They’re definitely Angels. I recognize the Prince, he’s unmistakable. And there’s a few more of them hanging around outside the front entrance. Yuuko, where are the girls?” 

“Playing in the basement.” 

“Good, I’ll get them out the basement door then. Yuuri, cover your costume with something and get out the _back_ door. Yuuko, get out on stage and make them think we don’t know they’re here. You were only late to build up the crowd’s expectations.” 

Yuuko nods, turns on her heel, and runs for the stage. 

Yuuri blinks. “But…why should _I_ leave? Shouldn’t I be here to help if they start trouble?” 

Minako stares at him like he is an idiot. 

“Yuuri, it’s very likely that you _are_ the trouble. The Angels would sell their souls to have some leverage over Viktor Nikiforov. Fuck me, I should have been expecting something like this.” 

Yuuri’s eyes widen with shock and sudden terror. “You think they’re here…for _me_?” 

Phicit comes tearing down the hallway, his face very pale. “Minako! There’s more of them gathering at the back door!” 

“Fuck!” Minako’s eyes land on Yuuri for a moment, anguished, like he is about to go up in smoke. But she jerks her gaze quickly back to Phicit. “Get Yuuri out through a window,” she orders. “I’ve got to get the kids out the basement.” 

She turns and runs for the basement stairs. 

Phicit twists to look fertively up and down the length of the hallway as Yuri grabs a pair of pants and hops clumsily into them to hide his costume. He grabs his coat from the rack by the door and wraps it around him, pulls the hood up to hide the dancer’s make-up on his face. He slips into a pair of shoes, with no time to tie them, and he and Phicit are off and running down the hallway. 

There’s a window that isn’t visible from either of the entrances. If Yuuri can get out through there, he might be able to make a run for it in the dark and the obscurity of the rainstorm outside, or climb up onto the roof and wait them out. 

But no sooner has he thought this, than a tall, slender man appears in the doorway at the end of the hall, blocking their way. Yuuri’s heart drops in terror: he recognizes that face. The Prince’s gaudy make-up is unmistakable. 

Georgi Popovich. He’s the second in command to King JJ, leader of the Angels. He’s famously unhinged; when his fiancé ran away from him, he had her lover murdered. He’s got spies on the lookout for her now, and if she’s anywhere within 100 miles of town, she doesn’t stand a chance of escaping him. 

The Prince is a sociopath. And a master of organizing and exploiting crimes of passion. And his hooded eyes are fixed right on Yuuri’s face. 

Everything starts happening very quickly. 

Phicit shoves him through the door beside them as two other men come around the corner to flank the Prince. Yuuri and Phicit crash into Yuuko’s dressing room. Yuuri stumbles into her make-up table and knocks over two bottles of perfume, which fall and smash against the floor. Phicit slams the door and throws the lock, then leaps onto a chair to fumble with the small window high on the wall. 

_It is just big enough for them to get through_ , Yuuri thinks, _if they have the time…_

He throws his weight against the door to keep it closed as the men outside start pounding on it. The lock is already starting to break, to chip off of the door, and it will be useless in just a few moments. 

There is a yell outside; Takeshi’s voice, and a crash as he comes running at the men and slams one of them against the wall. 

Yuuri looks around desperately for some sort of weapon, but there is nothing, and a moment later, the door crashes down on top of him. 

Yuuri is knocked flat, under the door, as the mirror falls from the wall and shatters, and he throws his arm up to shield his eyes from the flying shards of glass. 

Everyone is yelling, and Yuuri can’t _think_ for panic, but he grasps ahold of a drawer handle on the wall and tries to haul himself out from under the door. 

“Go, Phicit!” he hears himself yell. “I’ll come after you!” 

But Phicit is frozen with panic by the open window, watching as the intruders throw Takeshi down on the floor of the hallway and start kicking him in the gut, the groin. 

There is another pair of running feet in the hallway, and the bang of a gunshot. 

“ _Get out_!” Minako shouts. She shoots again, and the Prince _screams_ in pain and collapses back against the wall, clutching his shoulder. 

His henchmen jerk around, leaving Takeshi groaning on the floor. As Minako cocks the gun to shoot again, the pale, Korean-looking henchman strikes her savagely across the face, knocking her off balance. His red-headed, Italian-looking companion twists the gun out of her hand, and it goes flying down the hallway. The Korean man shoves her backwards into an open closet and slams the door, locking her in. 

The Prince is leaning back against the wall, panting with pain as he clutches his shoulder. But he raises his hooded eyes to Yuuri and manages to rasp out an order. “Take him.” 

Yuuri is struggling to his feet, his head spinning. 

Takeshi has passed out against the wall, and Minako is hammering on the closet door, yelling in fury. “Don’t you _dare_ hurt Yuuri! _Don’t you dare hurt him_!” 

The two henchmen advance on him over the fallen door and the broken glass, and Yuuri grabs the nearest missile, a pink perfume bottle, and brandishes it like a grenade. 

“ _Stay back_!” 

The henchmen ignore him. And as the Italian one lunges at him, Yuuri hurls the bottle at his face. It is enough to distract them for a moment, and in that moment, Phicit leaps down from the chair and shoves Yuuri behind him. 

“You won’t take him!” Phicit yells. But almost instantly, the Korean henchman jams a fist into his gut and slams him back against the wall. Phicit gasps for air, winded and too stunned to struggle, but the henchman’s hand closes around his throat. Another fist pounds him in the gut, and Phicit chokes and spasms with pain and suffocation. The henchman is merciless, clutching Phicit's throat like he means to _kill_ him. 

“ _Stop_!” Yuuri shrieks. “Stop! Don’t hurt him! _Please!_ Don’t hurt him! I’ll come with you! I’ll come with you!” His voice sounds very shrill and terrified. 

He stands still, petrified with fear, as the Italian henchman steps toward him and grabs him by the back of his hair. A cloth is jammed over his nose and mouth. It smells strange, and after a few breaths his vision starts to close in on itself like the shutter on a camera. 

His last impression is of being grabbed under the armpits, and dragged down the hallway, watching the fluorescent lights flash by above him, before everything goes black.


	5. The Glory of the Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "While we have the piggy, we have the power."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning:
> 
> Brief reference to sibling incest. (Seung Gil accuses Mickey of sleeping with Sara)

Yuri fumbles around in the darkness for his clothes. 

Beka was right; it hurts to move. His ass is burning. But after several moments of agitation and annoyance, his hand lands on his jeans, and he slips into them as quietly as he can. There’s no time to hunt for underwear or a shirt, but he finds his jacket, crumpled against the wall, and he pulls his shiv out of the breast pocket. 

Otabek is silent as a shadow on the staircase, and Yuri doesn’t know if he has cleared the landing. But he is not going to lie here, naked and useless, while Otabek gets into a fight. 

Yuri is a member of the gang now, after all. If there is dying to be done, Otabek does not get to do it without him. 

The door at the top of the staircase is open. And as Yuri begins to ascend the stairs, shiv in hand, he hears more clearly the voices of the men above. He stops, confused and disoriented, as his brain registers that those voices are familiar. 

“I can’t believe you struck a woman!” That is Mickey’s fierce whisper. 

“She _shot_ Georgi!” Seung Gil snaps back. “What was I supposed to do?” 

“We are Angels. We do not hurt women and children. It is a matter of _honor_.” 

“Well, we do not sleep with our sisters either," says Seung Gil icily. "And yet somehow, it seems--” 

“ _Be quiet_!” That is Georgi’s angry whisper. “Get off of my arm and go get Sara. You are both garbage at this!” 

“ _I’ll_ get her,” hisses Mickey with repressed rage. “Just don’t move, Georgi, and keep the pressure on it.” 

“What is going on here?” Otabek’s voice, spoken out loud, shocks everyone and startles Yuri back into action. He runs up the rest of the flight of stairs, wincing with pain, and flips on the light at the top of the landing. 

Seung Gil and Mickey are huddled over Georgi in the inn’s living room. Georgi is slumped back in a chair, deathly pale under his makeup, as Seung Gil wraps his shoulder in a bandage. 

And on the floor in front of them, there is another man. 

His wrists and ankles are both tied together, and he is gagged with a strip of black silk cloth. His eyes are wild with terror and every now and then he lets out a little keening whimper. 

_How pathetic_. Yuri feels an instant dislike for this stranger. 

“Otabek!” Seung Gil rises urgently. “Can you remove a bullet?” 

“No. What happened, and who is the hostage?” 

The front door of the inn swings open, and everyone jerks around, defenses up. 

But it is only JJ who slips inside. He is followed by Sara, Mila, and Yakov, who closes the door hurriedly behind them. They are all dripping wet from the storm outside and tensed with anxiety. 

And suddenly the room is very full. There are a thousand questions to be asked, and everyone is talking at once. 

“Mickey!” Sara runs to her brother, her face transformed with relief. “You’re alright!” 

“Yes--” he catches her up in his arms “—but Sara, Georgi got shot, and--” 

“Oh!” She drops to her knees beside Georgi, and starts to unwind his bandage, which is already filling with blood. 

“Is this the boy?” JJ advances on the hostage, who gapes up at him in sheer terror. 

_The hostage knows who JJ is, then._ Yuri thinks with spiteful satisfaction. _Good. He is afraid of the Angels, as he should be._

“Yes, this is the one,” Georgi says, his voice weak but calm, as Sara examines his wound. 

“They were desperate to protect him," says Seung Gil. "No doubt Viktor Nikiforov’s attention has brought a lot of new wealth to their little gang.” 

“ _What?_ ” The ferocity in Otabek’s voice makes everyone stop talking for a moment, and turn to look at him. “Are you saying that…that this is _that man_? _This_ is Viktor Nikiforov’s sweetheart?” 

_Pretty disappointing if he is,_ Yuri thinks dryly, looking at the chubby, blubbering, pig-nosed little creature on the floor. When he had heard that Viktor Nikiforov had taken a lover, Yuri had pictured some dazzling 7-foot-tall specimen, not this pathetic, snot-nosed— 

“Yes, this is him,” says JJ. 

Otabek turns his gaze on JJ, and Yuri can hear repressed rage in his voice as he says, “And you and Georgi did not think to run this decision by me? Or by Yakov?” He casts a suspicious glance at Yakov, and the older man shakes his head. 

“They did not tell me until an hour before they left, Beka. And I do not like it.” 

“You were _busy_ , Otabek,” says JJ breezily. “You had to initiate Yurio.” For a moment, everyone but Otabek flicks their eyes over Yuri’s body, taking in his naked chest, his tangled and sweat-greased hair, the hickies on his neck and shoulders, the streaks of red across his arms and face where he had torn the roses apart in his pleasure-pain. Yuri blushes furiously. “Like I said,” JJ says pointedly. “Busy.” 

“So you thought you would take this opportunity to do something _incomprehensibly_ stupid.” Otabek’s anger makes the whole room go silent, but JJ turns to him coolly. 

“I do not need to run every decision I make by you, Otabek. I knew you wouldn’t like this plan. But the final say is always mine. Viktor Nikiforov moves in on our territory. He has already taken nearly all of the East End from us. That land means nothing to him. But it means income, and honor, for us.” 

“So you kidnapped his pet pig?!” Yuri blurts out incredulously. 

JJ glances at Yuri in bemused annoyance, and then looks back to Otabek. “For the first time, we now have something that matters to _him_. We have the grounds for a negotiation.” 

“And what if he does not want to negotiate?” Mila says sharply. 

JJ turns his head to look at her. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that he could come after our blood instead. Like Yurio said, you kidnapped his pet. Once he finds out, which he will within the next few minutes I would think, he’s not likely to be feeling very diplomatic.” 

“It does not matter,” says Georgi, his pained voice very certain. “He will comply with our requests. It is what people do. While we have the piggy, we have the power. He will not be able to tolerate the risk that we might hurt his love. And if he tries to resist, the answer is simple: we _will_ hurt the pig, and send him a nice high definition video of it. That will get him ready to negotiate.” 

JJ nods: satisfied, and ready to end the discussion. “Alright. In the mean time, turn those lights out. Seung Gil, go and turn _on_ the lights at Nappi’s Warehouse. Break a window or two and make it look like we were there with the prisoner. If Nikiforov sends henchmen out looking tonight, we want to throw them off the scent. Don't come back here tonight, in case you're followed. Sara, take Georgi downstairs and get that bullet out of him. Mickey, you and I will keep watch. Mila and Yuri--” There is a moment of surprise in the room. This is the first time that Yuri has ever been given an order as a member of the gang. Yuri’s heart leaps, and he stands up straighter. “Go and scout out what is happening at the Hornets’ strip club. Don’t go in, just linger about like a couple and take a look around. See if you can figure out whether Nikiforov knows yet what happened. Everyone else, go to the beds upstairs and rest up. We should be here to guard the prisoner, but we won’t bring anyone else in tonight in case there are spies out. “Oh, and one more thing--” Yuri hears JJ say as he turns to hunt for the rest of his clothes downstairs. “Otabek, wipe that scowl off your face. You don’t like this plan, I can see that. But we all must compromise sometimes. For the glory of the Angels.”


	6. Viktor's Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masturbation has nothing on the real Yuuri. The sparkle in his eyes, the warmth of his flesh, the taste of his mouth, render Viktor helpless with wonder and desire. There is no fantasy Viktor has ever had as erotic as one confident, teasing, tender cock of that man’s eyebrows.
> 
> He sets Viktor’s body on fire. But more than that, his heart.

Viktor Nikiforov props himself up on his elbow to pour lubricant into his palm. 

He warms it between his hands, and then lies back down on the silky white comforter of his enormous waterbed, and slides his fingers down the soft skin of his lower stomach, and onto the tender head of his erect cock. 

He is already naked, just climbing out of the bathtub, and the curtains are drawn in his suite in the deluxe beachside hotel that his gang operates. It is late, and Viktor’s bedroom is lit only by one bedside lamp. 

Yuuri had to work tonight, and Viktor is sorely missing his presence. Just thinking about Yuuri dancing, all done-up in stage makeup, the rhinestones around his eyes glittering in the red stage-lights, was enough to get Viktor rock-hard in the bath water. 

He’s got to do something about that now. Because like most Yuuri-induced erections, this one is persistent, and not going away by itself. 

Masturbation has nothing on the real Yuuri. The sparkle in his eyes, the warmth of his flesh, the taste of his mouth, render Viktor helpless with wonder and desire. There is no fantasy Viktor has ever had as erotic as one confident, teasing, tender cock of that man’s eyebrows. 

He sets Viktor’s body on fire. But more than that, his heart. 

Viktor is in love. And he feels it in his whole body. It is relentless, the rollercoaster of elation and despair and desire that all originates and terminates in Yuuri. 

Viktor will never be able to go to the Hornet’s Nest to watch Yuuri perform. Viktor’s a walking target for assassination attempts, and he really can’t be seen in as conspicuous a setting as a strip club. 

But Yuuri is only too happy to give him private shows. 

Viktor remembers now, his hand sliding over the head of his cock, Yuuri’s last performance for him here, two nights ago, on the pole that is now a permanent fixture in the room. 

Yuuri had let Viktor pin him to the pole, strip his clothes off and drop them to the floor, and turn him around, to hiss with delight when he found that Yuuri’s tight teal speedo was _open-backed_. 

Viktor had pinned him, slicked him, slid a plug into his ass, and then clicked on the music and sat back to watch him dance. 

Yuuri had set the room on fire, whipping his head around and twining himself around the pole, his breath catching every now and then, and his body shuddering with the pleasure of the plug inside him. 

Basking in Viktor’s ravenous gaze, he’d rubbed himself hard against the pole. And then he’d come to Viktor with his erection making a clear lump in his tight speedo, smiling and biting his lip. The flush of arousal in his cheeks was too pretty to bear, the loving gaze in those deep black eyes… 

Viktor gasps as he thinks of those eyes. 

And Yuuri had shoved him onto the bed and turned around to keep dancing for him. Reached up to run his fingers through his own hair, swayed down onto Viktor’s lap… 

Viktor had run his fingers up Yuuri’s sides, and Yuuri had leaned back against him, still swaying with the stereo music. He’d let his head fall back against Viktor’s shoulder, turned his head to kiss him open-mouthed; perfect trust, perfect surrender. 

Viktor’s breath is coming in shuddering gasps now. And he thinks about how hard he’d been, his cock throbbing, slotted between the cheeks of Yuuri’s ass as Yuuri danced on him, _for_ him. 

He’d slid his fingers over the cheeks of Yuuri’s ass, slow and light, to get another shudder out of Yuuri. And then he’d slipped them between his cheeks again, and slowly pulled the buttplug out. His fingers sunk into Yuuri easily, stretched and stroked him. And gradually Yuuri forgot to move in Viktor’s lap, and just lay back against him and moaned. He’d pulled a condom out of the front of his speedo and handed it wordlessly over his shoulder to Viktor. 

Viktor had opened his pants and rolled the condom on, and then it was effortless to slide inside Yuuri, one hand on his chest and the other down the front of his speedo, rubbing his hot cock. 

Viktor’s own cock spasms with pleasure at the memory of Yuuri’s sounds. How Yuuri had shoved himself down deeper on the hilt of Viktor’s cock, moaning for him, letting himself be split open like that in Viktor’s lap… 

Viktor lets out an involuntary groan as he jerks in his own fist. He is seconds from cumming, but he wants to draw out the pleasure of the memory; the sweat on Yuuri’s naked back, the soft tightness inside his body, his moans… 

There is a knock on the door of Viktor’s bedroom. 

There are very few people who have access to Viktor’s suite, and for a moment, his heart leaps with hope at the thought that it might be Yuuri, come over after work to surprise him. 

“Viktor?” 

It’s Chris, one of his right-hand men. 

Viktor breathes out a disappointed little rush of air. “Come in, Chris.” 

He sits up as Chris opens the door. 

It doesn’t occur to Viktor to make any effort to hide what he has been doing, or even to cover himself. Chris has found him in this state plenty of times before, and besides, Viktor has very little need for privacy when it comes to his body. 

Chris’ eyes rake over his sweaty naked body and come to rest on his swollen cock. 

“Well, _hello_ , boss.” 

Chris licks his lips, gazing unabashedly at Viktor with dilated pupils. 

“Hi Chris,” Viktor says breezily. “What do you need? Can you make this quick, so I can finish?” 

“ _Mmmm_ , why rush me away?” Chris purrs. “I can finish you good, Vitya, you know that. Here, let me--” 

Chris starts to sink to his knees beside the bed. 

“No, Chris, thank you for the offer.” Viktor gestures his palm upward and Chris rises reluctantly to his feet again. “As I said before, we can’t do that anymore. I am in love with Yuuri and I intend to be faithful to him. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?” 

“Guang-Hong said there is someone downstairs to see you,” Chris says disappointedly. “The madam from the Hornet’s Nest. She is waiting in the lobby.” 

“Ah. Alright.” 

Viktor gets to his feet and slips back into the sleek gray suit that he had abandoned for this enterprise. He runs a comb through his hair and rinses his hands in the little bedside basin, splashes some water on his face, and follows Chris out into the hallway and downstairs toward the hallway. 

He likes Minako, as he likes all of Yuuri’s gang family, and he is looking forward to talking with her. They’ve been conspiring together to open another strip club, a joint effort of their two gangs. And he thinks that she has probably had an inspiration and come to tell him about it. 

But a moment later, he knows that he was mistaken, and there is something much more serious going on. 

Minako is standing at the foot of the lobby stairs, arguing passionately with one of Viktor’s security guards and trying to get around him. She is wild-eyed and dripping wet, and she is holding one of Yuuko and Takeshi’s triplets. The other two girls are clinging to her legs, looking terrified. 

“Let her through,” Viktor calls from the top of the stairs, and the guard instantly drops his arms and steps out of her way. 

“Viktor!” Minako cries, as he hurries down the steps to meet her. “ _Viktor!_ ” 

“What happened, Minako?” His voice is calm, but his heart is suddenly beating very quickly. What if--? 

_What if something happened to Yuuri?_

“Viktor, the Angels--” There are tears of rage welling up in Minako’s eyes. “The Angels took Yuuri. I don’t know where. They left forty-five minutes ago.” 

The world seems to spin around Viktor. He feels strangely cold, as though he has suddenly fallen through thin ice; ice he hadn’t realized he was standing on. 

_How could he have been so naiive?_ He had closed his mind to the possibility, the _probability_ , of something like this happening. He had been so high, so deliriously happy to have Yuuri in his life, that he had let himself forget who he was. 

He stares at Minako, swaying a little where he stands. One of the triplets starts to cry, frightened by his shock and the talk of kidnapping, and after a few moments, the other two join her, and all three of them are wailing. 

Chris, who is standing behind Viktor, recognizes Viktor’s shock and takes charge for a moment. He turns toward another guard, who stands beside the front door, and calls, “Go and keep watch out front. If you see an Angel, shoot him on sight. “You,” he turns to the guard who had blocked Minako. “Get these people a safe room and keep watch outside their door. They might have been followed here. Viktor--” He drops his voice and turns to Viktor. “Are you alright, Vitya?” 

Viktor is not alright. He has never felt so many dreadful emotions at once; rage, horror, guilt, and most of all, an overwhelming terror. They’ve got _Yuuri_ , and it is like there is an icy hand clenched around his heart. 

He will not be fully alive until they get Yuuri out. 

But he comes back to himself, and raises his hand to still the guard, who is beginning to lead Minako and the girls away. “A moment,” he says. And everyone looks relieved to hear the icy calm in his voice. “Before you go. Minako. Tell us everything you know. How did the Angels leave? And where, exactly, were they heading?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any Otayuri shippers who are worried that I've forgotten about the boys: Don't worry, there is more of them coming soon! ;D
> 
> Also: I was thinking that there are a lot of stories from this au that I wish I could read, but I really don't have time to write them all. Like...the story of Viktor first seeing Yuuri practicing a dance in a warehouse, or of their first time having sex, or of how the Hornets reacted when Yuuri told them. Or also of other people's initiations into the Angels...like Otabek's initiation? That would be interesting. Or Romeo and Juliet rival gang stories (JJ and Isabella????)
> 
> If anyone else wants to write in this au, be my guest! And maybe if you are interested, we could put our fics in a collection. :)
> 
> And one more thing, lol: For victuuri shippers who want more stripper Yuuri in open-backed underwear, I wrote a whole fic about it ;D: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10317599/chapters/22814228


	7. Burn Them Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Search inside,” Leo orders, coming to a stop beside the factory and swinging himself off of his motorcycle. “Either they’re here with the prisoner, or they want us to think they are. Stay in pairs, and watch each others’ backs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry to everyone who I promised that the next chapter would be in Otabek's perspective! I realized I needed to put this short chapter first for narrative flow. But the next chapter is in Otabek's perspective, I swear to Havenport!!

“Look there!” 

Leo de Iglesia points to the Northeast, and the eight riders behind him turn their motorcycles in tandem with his. 

He is Viktor Nikiforov’s Lancelot, the best battle strategist in the gang, and the Skins behind him would quietly turn and drive their motorcycles down the gangplank and into the sea if he asked them to. 

They veer toward an old abandoned factory by the shipyard, which, suspiciously, is lit brightly on the inside, even at this late hour. Pulling closer, they notice signs of a struggle: a broken window, a smear of blood, a few little strips of black silk hanging from the jagged glass in the window-frame. 

“Be careful,” Leo says, loudly enough for the riders behind him to hear, but not loudly enough to alert anyone inside the factory to their presence. “This seems too easy. It could be a trap.” 

He scans the upper-floor windows and the roof for signs of movement. There could easily be a gunman up there, maybe even the Angels’ “Cobra”, Otabek Altin. They are an easy target at this angle to the roof. 

But there are no gunshots. The only sounds are the rattle of their motorcycles and the crashing of the waves behind them. 

“Search inside,” Leo orders, coming to a stop beside the factory and swinging himself off of his motorcycle. “Either they’re here with the prisoner, or they want us to think they are. Stay in pairs, and watch each others’ backs.” 

Leo considers, for a moment, calling to update Viktor on what they have found, but decides to wait until they have more conclusive information. Viktor is out leading a search party of his own, as are Chris and Isabella. 

There is nothing in the old factory. It appears to be almost completely empty, except for a few cobwebbed spindles, sewing machines, and wooden benches. 

The search party reconvenes out front, and discusses their next steps. This waterfront area is large, a typical New England jumble of abandoned factories and paper-mills in wood and brick. The whole area is run by, and well known to, the Angels, and it is full of thousands of nooks and crannies. If the Angels are hiding here, the Skins will never find them. 

Leo considers. 

He thinks of the terrified-yet-steely way that Viktor had told him to, “Do whatever it takes to get him back, Leo. Whatever it takes.” 

And after a moment, Leo speaks. 

“Let’s burn them out.” 

*

A leather jacket is doused in lighter fluid, and thrown, flaming, through the broken window of the factory. It does not take long to catch, sinking its teeth into the pine floor of the factory and crackling raucously with the pitch that it finds in the wood. 

It takes only a few minutes for the flames to lick up the walls of that empty room and begin to flash in the windows. The night is warm and windy, and it gives the fire life. More by more it spreads and deepens, until the group of Skins has to pull their motorcycles away and stand back from the building, shielding their faces from the heat. 

There is a crash from the street side of the factory, and as everyone turns to look, a dark-haired young man throws himself out of a ground-floor window. 

In an instant, the Skins are upon him. He rolls over the ground away from the heat, shaking broken glass from his clothes, and rises to his knees only to find himself in a circle of men, with nine guns pointed at his head. 

His muscle shirt was torn by the glass in the window. The back of it is slashed open, and Leo can see, under the fresh cut and the blood on his back, a pair of folded angel wings tattooed across his shoulder blades and ribs. 

An Angel then, for sure. 

There is a wad of cash clutched in his right hand. 

_An Angel stealing from his own gang._ They must hide money somewhere in this factory. _Well, no use looking for it now._

“Who are you?” 

Leo speaks calmly. The man is easily in their power, and it would be useless for him to resist them. 

The man seems to have come to the same realization. 

“Seung Gil Lee.” 

“An Angel?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where is Katsuki Yuuri?” 

Seung Gil hesitates. 

Leo cocks his gun and raises his eyebrows pointedly. 

“At the inn,” Seung Gil says in a rush of fear. “The old inn on Orchard Beach, near the carousel.” 

“Thank you.” 

Leo gestures and the two men on his either side pass their guns off and stoop to clamp Seung Gil’s wrists in handcuffs. 

“We take him with us,” Leo says. “And if the Angels won’t come out to claim him, then we burn them out too.” 

Leo punches a number into his phone and turns away as the men lead Seung Gil to a motorcycle, and begin binding him to its back seat. 

Leo looks up at the burning factory; the fire now two stories high. It has caught the pile of lobstering crates and fishing nets in the alleyway and created a sparking red and green blaze of the salt-crusted ropes. The high flames are licking at the shutters of the factories on either side, and it won’t be long until this whole beachfront is just a pile of industrial ashes. 

The smell of smoke mingles with the smell of the sea. 

“Viktor,” Leo says, when Viktor answers the phone. “We’ve got them. Orchard Beach Inn.” 

“We all meet there in ten minutes,” Viktor says, and the phone clicks off.


	8. Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek stares out into the night, his jaw clenched. His dark thoughts are coming together, to swirl into one grim realization: _something is very wrong with the Angels_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT CONTENT WARNING: Heavy sibling incest (Sara and Mickey)
> 
> If you are not comfortable reading this, just comment or send me a note on tumblr (basilique.tumblr.com), and I will happily send you a summary of the chapter without including the incest, so that you can still follow the plot! <3

Otabek is brooding. He is anxious, and more than that, he is angry. 

He is anxious for Yuri, out spying in this restless and unsettled night. 

And he is angry at JJ, for his arrogance and stupidity. 

_Kidnapping Viktor Nikiforov’s sweetheart_. It is the stupidest thing JJ has ever done, and that is no small feat. 

He had willfully kept the plan from Yakov and Otabek, who were supposed to be part of the decision making process. And it was blaringly obvious why; he had known that they would disagree with him. 

It was clear, more and more to Otabek, what JJ really was; an egomaniac, and a dangerous one. He thought that he was invincible and infallible. He thought he had some kind of divine right to lead the Angels, and that any idea he had, however crazy, was Heaven-sent to bring the Angels honor and prosperity. The town called him _“king”_ , half-ironically, and he was starting to take it to heart. 

Otabek picks up his gun, checks it, and sets it down on the bedside table again for the fifth time. 

The Angels have settled into the inn’s creaky old bedrooms, as per JJ’s instructions, but Otabek knows he is not the only one who is tense, and unwilling or unable to sleep. Through the wood-paneled wall behind the four-poster bed, he can hear Yakov murmuring fiercely, praying a ceaseless rosary. And through the other wall, he can hear Sara, tossing and turning in a futile attempt to get comfortable. 

Otabek paces to the window and looks out, on the one side toward the black waves licking the beach line, and on the other side toward the quiet, dimly lit streets between the rows of old summer beach cabins. 

He thinks of the hostage, pathetically bound and whimpering downstairs at JJ’s feet, and JJ probably pretending to consult Mickey’s advice on their next move while the two of them keep watch. 

There are quiet footsteps on the stairs, and the door of Sara’s room opens and closes. The floorboards creak as Mickey—it must be Mickey— tip-toes across the floor, and the springs of the old bed creak as he kneels beside her and she sits up. 

“Did you hear anything?” she whispers. 

“No. Not yet. But I’m worried, Sara. What if the Skins want to--” 

_“Shhh--”_ She shushes him gently, and Otabek can picture, very clearly, the way she presses her finger to his lips. “It’s alright, Mickey. Just lie down and try to get some sleep.” 

The blankets rustle as he climbs into bed beside her, and Otabek can hear, though he tries to block it out, the slight change in both of their breathing. 

Sara’s next whisper is quieter, close to his face: “we shouldn’t, Mickey. You know we shouldn’t.” But her whisper is breathy and shaky. 

“We’ll be quiet. Who’s next door?” 

“Otabek. I think he’s asleep. But Mickey…okay, but _just a little_.” 

Otabek stares out at the night and tries to tune out the sounds that come next; Mickey’s longing sigh and the rustle of blankets as he rolls over her. 

The two of them are addicted to each other; they have been for years, and try as they might, they cannot seem to stop this. When Mickey was initiated by JJ, and Sara was initiated by Lilia—even then—everyone knew that they were not really virgins. And the draw is especially strong for them on nights like this, when the stress is high and the danger is tangible. 

The rest of the gang turns a blind eye to it. But there are some moments, like this one, when it is impossible to ignore. 

“Here, take this off,” Mickey murmurs, and there is another rustle of fabric, the snapping of a bra-back. Hands on skin, and Sara’s breath catches. 

“More,” she gasps, her voice full of shame and the desperation of an addict. And there is a wet sound as his fingers slide down between her legs and sink into her. 

“ _Oh…Mickey…_ ” 

The bed creaks as she shoves against his hand, and she gives a stifled cry as his fingers slide in and out. 

There is a thud as she falls back against the pillows, and then her cries are stifled by his hand over her mouth as he pleasures her. 

His breath is ragged, ferocious with twisted love. And the wet sounds get louder and louder, squelching noises of his fingers in her. 

Otabek stares out into the night, his jaw clenched. His dark thoughts are coming together, to swirl into one grim realization: _something is very wrong with the Angels_. 

He has known it for a while, but he hasn’t wanted to admit it to himself. It feels wrong even to let the thought cross his mind. But it is true; how can he deny it? 

They unquestioningly obey the orders of a senseless narcissist and his sociopathic sidekick. They turn a blind eye to Sara and Mickey’s problem, just to keep up the illusion that the dynamics of the gang are perfect. And now, it looks like, they are turning to the wholly honorless business of _kidnapping_ to get what they want. 

This is not glory, what they have. Not anymore. Otabek is not sure _what_ it is. 

Through the wall, he hears Mickey fumbling with his belt buckle, unzipping his pants. A few moments later, he groans as he slides inside of her, and she lets out shaky gasps of ecstasy as their flesh starts to move together. 

Otabek is getting hard in his pants, against his will. He _really_ should not be getting off on this. 

He ignores the erection and continues to glare out of the window, going back to his treasonous line of thought. 

_If it all became too much to stomach? If there came a time when he could no longer call himself an Angel and still call himself a man of honor?_

If he were to _leave_ the gang? 

There would be no place for him in Havenport. And when he left town, he would have to do it alone. 

_Yuri would not come with him._ That was certain. Whatever his feelings might be for Otabek now; whatever strange and terrifying _thing like love_ had touched the two of them just hours before in the basement, Yuri’s loyalty to the gang would always be stronger. 

Outside in the distance, Otabek hears the sound of sirens. There are two of them, and then three, and then a full six or seven, ripping through the still night. 

_Strange._

He checks his watch, and his heart stutters uncomfortably; it’s 3am, Yuri really should be back by now. _What is taking him so long?_

Mickey and Sara seem to have heard the sirens too, and their fucking takes on a new sense of urgency. Sara’s shaky gasps get louder and louder, and the bed frame squeaks. There is a loud noise as the bed bumps against the wall, and Sara cums, her keening moans barely stifled at all by Mickey's hand over her mouth. 

Mickey moans as he finishes in her, and then the two of them fall into heavy breathing, and finally into shamed silence. 

_But where is Yuri?_

Otabek is running out of space for any other thought. His heart pounds uncomfortably fast. 

He barely registers the sound of the sirens getting fainter, heading toward the factory district. 

He does not register at all the sound of a group of motorcycles a few miles down the beach, cruising quietly across the sand, getting closer and closer to the inn.


	9. 3am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri’s heart beats much too fast, and he wonders if Otabek can feel it, like the wings of a frantic bird as their chests press together.
> 
> They melt against each other like butter, their mouths opening into each others’ soft warmth.
> 
> Yuri lets his fingers dance over the buzzed sides of Otabek’s head. He feels Otabek shiver with pleasure. And _Yuri_ is the one doing that to him. _Yuri_ has the power to make Otabek feel good.
> 
> He slides his tongue into Otabek’s mouth, and Otabek’s fingers tighten on his waist.
> 
> They are both shaking.
> 
> The initiation is over, and they can have no pretense for doing this. There can give no reason to each other except that they want to.

Yuri tucks his shiv back into the pocket of his jacket as he and Mila slip in through the back door of the inn. 

He finds JJ sitting alert at a window in the dark downstairs. The hostage at his feet has fallen into a fitful sleep, letting out ugly piggy noises that are something between a snore and a whimper. 

JJ looks up when they come in, and asks for the report, but they tell him that they saw nothing of note. It was impossible to tell from outside the Hornet’s Nest whether or not the Skins had yet been informed of the kidnapping. JJ keeps Mila to ask her more questions, but sends Yuri off to bed. 

Yuri feels full inside, bursting with his own importance and usefulness. But he tries to appear nonchalant as he makes his way upstairs to the bedrooms. 

He wants to find Otabek. 

He has no good _reason_ for wanting that. He just wants Otabek to see that he did it; he completed an assignment and got back to the rest of the gang undiscovered. He just wants to _see_ Otabek. Otabek will probably be asleep anyway, but that’s alright, Yuri will just look at him for a little while… 

He turns the doorknob of the first door on the landing and peeks inside. 

It’s a lucky guess; Otabek is there, standing awake and alert at the window in the darkness. He looks tense, and he jerks his head around when the door opens, his eyes narrowing. 

But when he sees who it is, a tidal wave of relief washes over him. 

“ _Kitten,_ ” he breathes, and strides across the room to wrap Yuri in his arms and clasp him to his chest. 

Yuri’s breath catches. He is surrounded, once again; by Otabek’s leather jacket; his cologne-and-gunpowder smell; his strong, wonderful arms. After a moment of nervous hesitation, he lets his head rest against Otabek’s chest, the golden chain around Otabek’s neck digging lightly into his temple. 

Otabek rests his lips on Yuri’s soft hair, and murmurs a quiet prayer of thanks to Allah for his safety. 

As he had felt earlier, when Otabek had kissed and pleasured him, Yuri now feels again a sensation in his chest that is too tender to bear. He is not equipped for this, whatever is happening between them. 

It is not pain, what he is feeling. But it does hurt a little. 

It is not drunkenness, but it is making him just as clumsy and useless. 

It is not hatred, but it is just as overwhelming. 

He wants to tear it up into little pieces, and throw it into the ocean. 

There are sirens, an army of them, roaring a few miles away across town. But nevertheless, the moment is a quiet one between the two of them. Otabek runs his fingers through Yuri’s hair, cups his chin, and raises it. 

“I can’t believe you did your first assignment,” he murmurs. “And you did it on a crazy night like _this_.” 

Yuri’s heart threatens to burst into flames. 

“Well,” he whispers back, raising a hand to rest on Otabek’s chest, “I was initiated well.” 

Otabek guides his chin forward. They kiss. 

Yuri’s heart beats much too fast, and he wonders if Otabek can feel it, like the wings of a frantic bird as their chests press together. 

They melt against each other like butter, their mouths opening into each others’ soft warmth. 

Yuri lets his fingers dance over the buzzed sides of Otabek’s head. He feels Otabek shiver with pleasure. And _Yuri_ is the one doing that to him. _Yuri_ has the power to make Otabek feel good. 

He slides his tongue into Otabek’s mouth, and Otabek’s fingers tighten on his waist. 

They are both shaking. 

The initiation is over, and they can have no pretense for doing this. They can give no reason to each other except that they _want_ to. 

Yuri feels Otabek’s erection pressed against his lower stomach, and spurred on by the unbearable discomfort in his chest, he drops to his knees. He presses Otabek’s hips back against the wall and undoes his pants with shaking fingers. 

Otabek’s breath catches, and he murmurs a heated “ _yes_ ”, as Yuri licks his lips and opens them around the thick head of his cock. Yuri slides the hot flesh into his mouth, and sucks. 

He has never done this before, but he knows the gist of how it works. And when Otabek starts to pant with pleasure, and his fingers tighten in Yuri’s hair, Yuri feels a thrill like he is dropping on a rollercoaster. 

“ _Beka_ ,” he moans, his mouth full of him. 

He can feel Otabek’s eyes on him, but he does not dare meet the gaze. He feels like he will explode if he looks into Otabek’s eyes right now. 

Instead, he concentrates on sucking him, on trying to blow his mind with pleasure. 

He thinks of the sounds Otabek had made earlier, as they clutched each other hard enough to bruise and Otabek shoved into his ass. Yuri’s ass still stings, but he would do it again right now. He could never get tired of that feeling. He could _never_ get tired of Beka’s sounds. 

Otabek’s rough middle finger traces over Yuri’s lips, stretched around his cock, and Otabek’s head falls to one side in an exhale of pleasure as he admires Yuri’s face. 

Yuri is hard in his own pants, and Otabek’s finger on his lips makes him feel desperately submissive. He shoves his face forward harder, and chokes himself on the head of Otabek’s cock, until he can barely breathe for gagging. 

“Yuri,” Otabek gasps, fighting against the moans in his throat. “Yuri, _baby_ …” 

Yuri moans uncontrollably. His back has broken out in sweat with the pleasure of hearing that word from Otabek. 

He likes it so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“ _Baby…_ ” Otabek murmurs again, watching rapturously the way that Yuri twists with pleasure. “ _My baby, my…my love…_ ” 

Yuri cries out and gasps for air. And as he does so, he accidentally scrapes his teeth lightly along Otabek’s shaft. To his surprise, Otabek lets out a new sound; a rough, masculine groan of pleasure-pain that rips through Yuri like a wave of fever. 

He does it again, and this time, his heart beating frantically, he raises his eyes to Otabek’s. He watches the pleasure on Otabek’s face as he groans like that again; and again, and again, as Yuri runs his teeth up and down him. 

Their eyes meet ferociously, and something spills over inside Yuri. Looking into Beka’s adoring eyes is too much, and he breaks off, gasping and shaking, as his cock _throbs_ and he cums in his pants. 

Otabek’s head rolls back against the wall, and Yuri manages to swallow him down again just in time as he cums, shuddering with pleasure and groaning, clutching at Yuri’s hair. 

They both breathe hard for several long moments. 

Then Otabek pulls Yuri to his feet, and wraps his arms around him again, cups his face for another kiss, his eyes _glazed over_ with adoration, like he is looking at the most beautiful thing in the world… 

_There is a sound outside the inn._

Otabek and Yuri look away from each other and toward the window, dazed. Their minds are slow; their hands are clumsy. It takes them several seconds to realize that the sound was the cutting of an engine; a motorcycle engine. 

And it is followed, a moment later, by the cutting of several more engines. 

_Many_ more engines. 

Otabek sets a hand on Yuri’s shoulder to keep him where he is, and turns quietly to the window. Yuri watches his profile for a moment, and recognizes the old look of grim determination setting in, his eyebrows drawing together and furrowing. Yuri knows that look. It means they are in some deep trouble, and Otabek is steeling himself for it. 

Yuri turns, and steps up behind him at the window. 

Outside, there is a group of 35 or more people on motorcycles, sitting quietly and staring up at the house. Their faces are calm, but they are armed, every single one of them; knives, razors, knuckle spikes, guns. They wear the silver leather jackets of the Skins. 

Near the front, there is an Italian-looking man...who must be Leo de la Iglesia, holding up a torch. And in front of him, dismounting from his motorcycle, and straightening up to look at the inn, is a breathtakingly graceful man with prematurely silver hair and ice-blue eyes. His mouth is set in a grim line, and his whole body is tensed with something Yuri thinks he can almost understand now; ferocious terror for his missing love. 

It _has to_ be Viktor Nikiforov. And a moment later, Yuri's suspicion is confirmed, as the man opens his mouth and calls out to the night in an unmistakable Russian accent, his voice breaking with repressed anger. 

“Jean-Jacques Leroy! Why don’t you come on out here? I believe you have taken something that does not belong to you.” 


	10. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still alive, he stands face to face with the crowd of Skins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: 
> 
> Veiled reference to sexual assault (JJ implies that Georgi is going to rape and otherwise brutalize Yuuri, to scare Viktor)
> 
> Use of the word "slut" (also to describe Yuuri, to make Viktor angry)
> 
> Violence and threats of violence

JJ stands up. 

He is downstairs in the basement of the inn. The hostage lies on the floor where JJ had brought him for safer-keeping, and Georgi lies on the couch, his good arm flung over his pale forehead. 

JJ has been consulting with Georgi, and the plan is made. It is a good one, pregnant with the sort of flash and drama that they both live for. 

But at the sound of his own name, called through the night in an unmistakable Russian accent, JJ knows that they are going to have to make a few amendments to the plan. 

Time feels a little unreal as he rises to his feet. They have been sitting in perfect darkness, but JJ’s eyes have had time to adjust, and he steps over the huddled hostage, over the mess of torn roses on the floor, and toward the stairs. 

There is no time to think. No time to feel afraid. What ever is about to happen, he has a responsibility to his people. He must be brave. He must champion them. 

But nevertheless, he does think. And he does feel afraid. 

If he is about to die, will they remember him? Will he be written down in their hearts as the king who died in battle for them? 

Or will he be forgotten, as JJ, the clumsy, forgetful little boy that no one ever really loved? 

“Georgi,” he says, and his voice sounds very far away. “Keep a gun on the hostage. If they come in, threaten to shoot him unless they leave. Don’t do it. But break his fingers if you have to.” 

Georgi nods. 

“And if they kill me,” JJ says, fighting to keep his voice matter-of-fact, “you know that you are to lead the Angels.” 

Georgi nods again, his eyes filling with the dark, inscrutable emotions that flow through his body like ink. He holds out the letter that they have been crafting together, the challenge to Viktor Nikiforov. 

JJ takes it, nods, and ascends the staircase. 

He hears the others hurrying down from the bedrooms. 

Yuri emerges first, his whole body tensed with excitement, his eyes luminous. 

The others only look terrified. 

JJ looks around at their faces. His family. His people. Will this be the last time that they see him? 

“What do we do?” Yuri demands. “JJ, that’s _Viktor Nikiforov_.” 

“I know,” JJ says. “And when the moment is right, Yuri, I want you to give him this.” JJ passes the letter into Yuri’s outstretched hand. “I may not get the chance myself.” 

Otabek shifts uneasily behind Yuri, but Yuri nods fiercely, glowing with the importance of the task. 

JJ turns and goes to the front door. He opens it with the whole world spinning around him, expecting at any moment to feel a dozen blazing shocks of pain, and to feel them before he even hears the gunshots. 

But no one shoots as he steps out onto the doorstep of the inn and closes the door behind him. 

Still alive, he stands face to face with the crowd of Skins. 

They do not look like they are about to kill him. But what he sees is hardly better: they are watching him as though they think they are superior. They sit silently on their motorcycles, and the black ocean waves crush behind them on the beach, like some sort of moral chastisement from the very world. 

“Nikiforov,” he says, with all the lofty condescension he can muster, “I didn’t know you were planning a party at my inn. Or were you just too afraid to come and face me without a small army to back you up?” 

“ _Where is he_?” 

Nikiforov’s directness surprises JJ, and it takes him a moment to summon up a good lie. 

“Your little slut? Oh, he’s off with the Prince. I don’t think you’ll be finding them, where they’re hidden. But then again, I don’t know if you’ll want to. He’s not going to be of much use to you when the Prince is done with him…” 

Nikiforov’s face stays eerily calm; but his eyes blaze with such blistering cold fury that JJ’s heart skips a few beats. 

“What is it that you want, JJ? I will get it for you. And perhaps I will even give you a few moments to enjoy it before I cut you into tiny pieces and send your soul to Hell.” 

JJ forces himself to stand up straighter. 

“I want justice for the Angels. The territory that you have _stolen_ from us, I want it back. And I want your oath that it is ours from here on out, forever.” 

Nikiforov nods. “Very well.” 

“But what is more,” JJ continues fiercely, “I want a demonstration. I want spectators. I want your public acknowledgement of it, in front of your people and mine. I want a show. Yuri!” he calls. “Bring out the letter!” 

The door opens behind him and Yuri steps out. He approaches Nikiforov with his back straight and his chin high, and proffers the letter to him. 

For a moment, everyone’s attention is on Yuri. 

And then several things happen at once. 

Seung-Gil, seizing the moment of distraction, throws himself off of the back of a motorcycle and dashes for the inn. His mouth is gagged, and his arms are tied to his sides, and he lurches left to right like a monster through the darkness. 

Several of the Skins start shouting, and three of them swing off of their motorcycles to chase him. 

Leo de Iglesia drops his torch on the sand, pulls out his gun, and rolls to a crouch to take a shot at his heels. 

In the same moment, seeing his hostage escaping, Viktor Nikiforov seizes Yuri’s outstretched arm, and twists it behind his back in a bind. Yuri cries out in surprise as Viktor knocks him to the ground. 

Someone inside the inn yells, and there is the sound of running feet. The side door flies open. 

Another gunshot from Leo de Iglesia, and this time the bullet finds its way into the back of Seung-Gil’s thigh. He screams, but as he falls beside the open door, he is caught by someone—Mickey—and hauled into the inn. The door slams and locks before the Skins in pursuit can reach him. 

And he is safe, but Yuri--! 

Yuri is face down in the sand with his arm twisted behind his back. Nikiforov is crouched over him—too close to him to be a safe target, as he surely knows—and a woman runs up to clamp a pair of hand-cuffs around Yuri’s wrists. 

JJ gets another shock to add to his list; it is Isabella. His heart somersaults viciously and he slumps back, grabbing at the doorframe. 

She is the most beautiful woman in the world to JJ. And the only one that he has ever loved. But she is a Skin. And though she had begged him to be with her anyway, wept and chased him down this very beach, he had cast her away. 

He had had ambitions to lead the Angels. And how could he do that with a Skin’s ring on his finger? 

Her dark hair falls across her face as she clamps Yuri in the handcuffs, and just the sight of her makes his heart hurt deeper than a bullet could. 

But he has no time to feel the pain, because Nikiforov is getting to his feet again, tugging the stunned Yuri up with him. 

“Alright, well, I think it is good that we are still on even ground,” Nikiforov says conversationally. “A hostage for a hostage. I think that keeps things a bit more fair. Now, let’s see what you wrote me in this little love note.” 

Christophe Giacometti steps forward to lift the stunned Yuri by his thighs. Yuri starts to struggle, coming back to his senses, and then to hiss with fury and kick and bite at the man. But Giacometti is nearly twice his size, and he carries him, without too much difficulty, back toward a motorcycle as Nikiforov’s cold eyes begin to scan the challenge in the letter. 

*

Standing at the window, Otabek does nothing but try to remember to breathe. 

He could kill Viktor Nikiforov from here. All it would take is one shot. 

But in the chaos that would follow, Yuri would be defenseless in the middle of a crowd of Skins. 

He has no choice but to watch as they tie Yuri to a motorcycle. They’ll take him away, and Otabek knows full well, he won’t be back until the other Yuuri is back with Viktor, without a single scratch on his head. 

His stomach twists, his head pounds, his heart stretches like a part of himself is being torn off and stolen. 

The horror of it is too much to take in. But a thought that he had had earlier returns to him, and this time his mind is clear. 

This is not glory, no. This is _madness_.

And tonight, he has brought the boy he loves straight into the middle of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: basilique.tumblr.com ;))


	11. No Second Troy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor knows that Jean-Jacques Leroy wants to humiliate him. He does not care. He will give Leroy what he wants. Anything. _Anything_ , to get Yuuri back to safety.

It is just before dawn. 

Viktor Nikiforov leads a band of Skins, Hornets, Roosters, and Jewels down the dark beach, toward the smoking remains of the waterfront factory district. 

The fire is out. And this newly-rendered wasteland of smokestacks and free-standing brick walls, piles of charred rubble and exposed foundations, will make an appropriate stage set for the drama that JJ has demanded. 

Viktor has paid off the fire department and the cops; there will be no meddling from the authorities this morning as the Angels and the Skins settle their score. 

Down the beach, through the darkness, the Skins can see others pouring into the ruins of the factories, hiking their way through the wreckage. They head for a concrete platform near the edge of the beach; a naked foundation where the Angels have assembled the set, and are waiting with their prisoner. 

The other gangs, even those with no ties to the ones in conflict, are interested; King JJ has thrown down the gauntlet before Viktor Nikiforov. And Viktor Nikiforov, usually as untouchable and mysterious as a ghost story, has picked it up. 

And all over some Hornet stripper. 

Viktor’s hands are clenched into fists in his pockets. And though Leo de Iglesia, by his side, is armed to the teeth, Viktor has no weapons. He will do nothing to escalate the situation. He will play Leroy’s mad game, win it, get Yuuri, and get out. 

He knows that Jean-Jacques Leroy wants to humiliate him. He does not care. He will give Leroy what he wants. Anything. _Anything_ , to get Yuuri back to safety. And from here on out, he will keep Yuuri safe with every shard of influence he has. Forget glory; it means nothing. Viktor’s career with the Skins has run its course. Yuuri is all that matters to him now. 

As Viktor rides toward the charred ruins and the confrontation that waits, he finds himself thinking of a poem that he had learned as a child learning English. He had forgotten about it for many years, but it comes back to him now, in blazing clarity: 

> Why should I blame her that she filled my days  
>  With misery, or that she would of late  
>  Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,  
>  Or hurled the little streets upon the great,  
>  Had they but courage equal to desire?  
>  What could have made her peaceful with a mind  
>  That nobleness made simple as a fire,  
>  With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind  
>  That is not natural in an age like this,  
>  Being high and solitary and most stern?  
>  Why, what could she have done, being what she is?  
>  Was there another Troy for her to burn?

They have reached the edge of the ruins. And unable to ride any further, they swing off of their motorcycles and make their way through the rubble on foot. _It won’t be too long now_. Until all of this is over. 

The acrid smell of ash is thick in the air. Here and there an ember still glows in the ashes, eye-catching in the darkness. The sun cracks over the horizon, and the distant sea is illuminated in a flash of red light. 

The light spreads across the water, across the beach, and onto the ruins as the Skins pick their way toward the Angels. 

“Ah, Nikiforov, I see you made it.” 

Jean-Jacques Leroy is seated in an old leather chair on the raised concrete platform, around which the myriad streams of people are gathering. The chair is studded with dollar-store plastic gems, and a red carpet--by the look of it, fashioned from some old curtains--leads up to his feet. A plastic golden crown sits on his head, and he leans jauntily on his right knuckles, with his left leg swung over the arm of the chair, a cocky king surveying his helpless subjects as the ocean crashes behind him. 

His eyes blaze with anticipation; he has Viktor in a bind, and he knows it. And he is going to milk this power for all that it is worth--and more. He holds the handle of a whip in one hand, and winds it playfully around his forearm as he looks Viktor up and down. 

Leo de Iglesia snorts derisively, incensed. He cannot stand to see Viktor trapped like this, and his entire being is screaming for a fight. But Viktor's hand grips his shoulder, and he reluctantly swallows back the hundred insults that he is ready to spit at JJ. 

Viktor's eyes are not on JJ, but on the man beside him. 

Katsuki Yuuri is cuffed by his ankle to the leg of JJ's throne. Their eyes meet, and Viktor's heart tears at his chest. He can see Yuuri's terror for him. Yuuri's eyes beg Viktor to give him up and _get out of here_. 

But they both know that Viktor won't. 

The Angels have costumed Yuuri; left him in the glittering black thong from his show earlier, and added a web of black silk ropes bound around his chest. He is still gagged, but his eyes are made out with mascara and his cheeks are rouged dark red. To add insult to injury, they’ve stuck a large pair of feathery _angel wings_ to his back, like a flag to mark their usurped territory. 

He is holding a tray of fruits and cheeses by JJ's side, and while JJ knows he has Viktor's attention, he reaches up to pluck a strawberry from the tray, and licks it slowly before he puts it into his mouth. 

" _Mmmm_ ," he murmurs. "So sweet." 

Rage rears back, like a stampede of horses, in Viktor's chest. And for a moment he forgets his plan to cooperate and give the bastard what he wants. He pulls a knife from Leo's back pocket and brandishes it, his hand shaking with fury. 

"Come down here and fight me, you _maggot_." 

"Uh-uh-uh--!" JJ unwinds the whip from his arm, and in one unstoppable flash, he strikes it across the bare cheeks of Yuuri's ass. 

Yuuri yelps and drops the tray. His hands fly to his ass and he grits his teeth against his gag as his eyes well up with tears of pain. 

"That is what happens if you resist, Nikiforov." JJ snarls. "And much worse. _Bad boy_ , piglet." He shoots Yuuri a scolding look as the grapes from the tray go rolling across the platform in every direction. "Be a good boy, or your owner won't want you back." 

JJ turns his head back to Viktor and smirks. 

"Now we made an agreement, Nikiforov. Are you going to participate in my tournament, or not?" 

Viktor's hands curl into fists. 

He looks at Yuuri. At that beloved face crunched with pain. The only way out of this is _through_ it. He swallows his pride, and his rage, and he nods.


	12. The Cockfight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cockfighting and breeding is a little hobby of Yakov’s; a good way to make money off of tourists. And the specimens they have brought today are his finest.
> 
> The Skins, too, have brought cocks to fight; as per the instructions in JJ’s mad ransom note.

Yakov has brought seven cocks to the beach. 

Fighting cocks. Each uniquely handsome, with long, iridescent tail-feathers and a proud tilt to their heads. 

He is unloading them from the back of Mila’s truck, which is parked on the beach, and carrying them to the stage. Each is in its own cage, and they cannot be allowed too close to one another; they are already primed for battle, and they will claw and peck at one another through their bars. Silver spurs shine sharply on the heels of their claws, and they strut when their cages are set on the ashy ground, lifting their feet impatiently and surveying the scene with a gaze that is almost as arrogant as JJ’s. 

Cockfighting and breeding is a little hobby of Yakov’s; a good way to make money off of tourists. And the specimens they have brought today are his finest. 

The Skins, too, have brought cocks to fight; as per the instructions in JJ’s mad ransom note. 

Viktor had had to pull quite a few strings to find cocks of this quality and get them transported from Boston to Havenport in the wee hours of the morning, before the dawn. But no one could deny, as Guang-Hong carries their cages forward and sets them near the others, that they are magnificent; their red-golden feathers shine like treasure in the red glow of the sunrise. 

A crowd of nearly three hundred people has gathered on the scene; the Angels, the Skins, the Hornets, the Jewels, the Bulls, and others. There is tension thick in the air; most members of the gangs are not accustomed to sharing a space with their rivals. But there is an understanding in the crowd that this is a moment for the Angels and the Skins alone, and that other conflicts must be dealt with later. 

The fighting cocks will be the medium through which the Skins and the Angels tear at each other. 

It is a custom that gangs have used before; the cocks represent the honor of their gang. And to slay the other gang’s cock is to set the record straight. Yakov, in fact, has a pair of rooster wings tattooed on his back, in place of the regular angel wing tattoo of the Angels, to commemorate the first time that he triumphed, as a new initiate, in a cockfight with a Jewel. 

JJ stands up, and gestures to make the crowd near his concrete stage step back, clearing a ring on the ashy ground before him. There are many murmured conversations in the crowd, but they begin to hush as JJ clears his throat to speak from the stage. 

“Nikiforov,” he says. “You have already agreed to my terms; our stolen territory returned for your piglet back. And a few games of cockfighting with me, to wager a little more land and…ease the tension between our kingdoms.” 

Viktor stands below him in the bare semi-circle that the crowd has cleared. He nods curtly, his eyes still on Yuuri, who stands on the stage behind JJ with his ankle chained to the throne. 

“Very well.” JJ gestures to Yakov to open one of the cages. “Let’s play first…for your portion of the carnival district.” 

There are quiet whoops and chuckles from a few of the Angels, and angry hisses from several of the Skins. 

Christophe Giacometti nudges his way forward to the edge of the crowd, and tugs his own captive out in front of him, his eyes narrowed on JJ’s face with a glare like acid. Yuri’s hands are tied behind his back, and his ankles are chained together with steel cuffs. He is gagged, like Yuuri, but judging from the angry red rings on Christophe’s arms, this gag is more to prevent him from _biting_ than from talking. His slender chest is heaving with absolute _fury_. 

Christophe puts his hands on Yuri’s shoulders, and tightens them a little, as though to remind JJ that he is not the _only_ one with some leverage here. 

JJ glances at Yuri, but averts his eyes quickly and turns back to Viktor. 

“What do you say, Nikiforov?” 

Viktor does not return his look. He keeps his eyes on Yuuri. 

“Very well,” he says, with no expression in his voice. 

There are sharp intakes of breath, and more hisses from the Skins in the crowd. But no one is about to contradict Viktor Nikiforov. 

Yakov lifts a pure white cock, by its legs, from one of the Angels’ cages, and holds it in one hand while he lifts a golden one from one of the Skins’. He comes to the center of the cleared arena, and spends a few moments crouched on the ground, lifting the cocks and exciting them further, until they are flapping their wings and craning their necks to puff out their ruffs, primed and frothing for battle. 

“For the Skins’ portion of the carnival, then,” Yakov says, his deep Russian accent ringing out over the ruins. 

And he lets them go. 

The cocks fly at each other, spurs ready. They know their job, and they are good at it. Wings flap, and claws scrape, and the crowd, falling captive to the drama of the fight, cheers them on, exciting them further, until they are manic with violence. 

The white one pins the gold to the ground, but the gold wriggles free, with the instinct of his reptilian ancestors. He slashes at a wing of his rival, and white feathers fly. Disoriented, the white cranes his neck to see what has happened to his wing, and in his moment of distraction, the gold knocks him to the ground. 

He jams a spur through the wounded wing, but the white cock’s feet come up underneath him, and a spur pierces the golden under-belly and _tears at it_. The golden cock is brave, but he is not a match for the white one’s viciousness, and a few moments later, he falls down dead, his belly blood darkening the ashes below him. 

The Angels are victorious, and they erupt into cheers, even as the Skins exchange looks of fear and rage with one another. 

“Well played, gentlemen,” JJ says, looking down as Yakov proudly carries the white cock off to nurse it, leaving the golden body of the other to stiffen on the ground. “Someone buy that cock a drink!” 

JJ smiles, and looks to Viktor, who returns the gaze without expression. 

“Another round, then, _Vitya_ , as we agreed?” When Viktor does not immediately answer, JJ cocks his crowned head a little. He steps inquisitively toward Yuuri, and snaps one of the bondage straps on Yuuri’s chest, his eyebrows raised at Viktor. “No? Are you going to go back on me now? What, do you think we should watch the pig fight the roosters instead?” 

“You are sick, JJ,” Viktor says quietly. “Pride has made you mad. But yes, we will play another round.” 

“Good,” JJ sneers, letting go of Yuuri’s costume and stepping back to the front of the stage. “There are worse things I could be. Like besotted and made pathetic by _love_. You have given up your _spurs_ , Viktor Nikiforov. _I_ will never be so _weak_.” 

At these words, JJ’s gray eyes flick involuntarily to the right, where Isabella is standing in the crowd between two other Skins. She raises her chin haughtily, glaring at him with as much spite as the other Skins. Even more, perhaps. 

“Another round, then,” JJ continues fiercely. “And I think the Angels deserve a chance at something _nice_. After you took out your little temper tantrum on _our territory_.” JJ gestures around at the blackened industrial district. “So let’s raise the stakes a little. This time, we play for the _port_.” 

There is a small uproar of protest and anger from the Skins. The port is one of their greatest sources of income. Christophe grips Yuri’s shoulders so tightly that it will surely leave a bruise, and Leo de Iglesia sputters with indignation. 

But Viktor nods. 

“For the port, then,” he says quietly. 

*

A little ways down the beach, Otabek Altin sits alone. 

He can hear what is happening; Yakov announces the battle for the port. The crowd begins to cheer and boo; more desperately this time, as the second cockfight begins. 

But Otabek cannot bring himself to go and join the crowd. He has a decision to make. 

He stares out at the sea, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. 

Then he looks down at the pistol in his hands, and the cobra tattoo on his gun arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many times do you guys think I can use the word "cock" in one fic???? ;p ;p ;p


	13. To Kill an Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you saying?” Otabek had asked. The suspicion in his mind was unthinkable. It couldn’t be. “Who do you want me to kill?”
> 
> JJ had taken a breath.
> 
> _Yuri._

Otabek feels sick to his heart. He stares down at the tattoo on his forearm, and the cobra stares back at him; fangs bared, eyes diabolical. 

_You are the only man I can trust with this, Otabek._

JJ had grasped his forearm, back at the inn, in the quiet dark of the kitchen. Grasped it like one Roman soldier greeting another. And Otabek had raised his face to JJ’s, trying not to show in his eyes the mutiny that had been stirring in his mind. 

_You have always served the Angels well. I know you don’t always agree with the decisions I make. But I could not ask for a better man by my side._

Otabek had nodded, acknowledging the compliment without really hearing it. “You want me to go and get Yuri back,” he had said, as his heart leapt with a fire underneath it. “I can do it, JJ. I will go now, and I will not fail. Let me get my gun.” 

_No_. JJ’s free hand came to rest on his shoulder. _There are too many of them. Beka, listen._ _The Skins are planning to use Yuri as leverage against us. We cannot give them that leverage. We cannot give them anything. We have to show them our teeth._

“What do you mean?” A prickle of fear had sparked between Otabek’s shoulder blades. JJ’s eyes looked wild. He looked…like something had slid out of place inside of him. When had it happened? When he thought that he was going to die? When he came face to face with Nikiforov’s calm superiority? 

_I need you to strike for the glory of the Angels, Beka. Strike so that they have nothing to hold over us. So that the whole town will see how dangerous we really are. We will take away their means of negotiation, get Nikiforov weak, and then make him give away everything they have._

“What are you saying?” Otabek had asked. The suspicion in his mind was unthinkable. It couldn’t be. “Who do you want me to kill?” 

JJ had taken a breath. 

_Yuri._

Otabek had stood, still and expressionless for a moment. His chest…seemed to ripple in on itself, and out again, his body swimming in and out of focus as though on a screen. 

He turns away from JJ, one shoulder at a time, and leans his hands on the cool counter behind him. 

_Don’t turn away from me, Otabek. JJ’s tone was tender. We ought to be closer, you and I. Viktor Nikiforov is not the only one who can be close to his lieutenants. We ought to be like brothers._

It had taken Otabek a moment to speak. He wanted to turn on JJ and slam him to the floor. Leap on him and tear him apart with his bare hands. But his voice did not even shake when he finally said, “You are asking me to kill an Angel.” 

_You know as well as I do that Yuri would give his life for the Angels at the drop of a hat._

“That does not mean that we should take it.” 

Otabek stared down at the countertop between his clenched hands, his white knuckles. 

_Yuri would want us to. You cannot argue with me there. You know him well; better than anyone, I would think, after the ritual tonight. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that he would want to go on living if he knew he was holding the Angels back from their full glory?_

“The Angels?” Otabek had said coldly, “Or King JJ?” 

JJ’s eyes had flashed, proud and affronted. 

_Everything that I have ever done, I have done for the Angels. Now you can sulk in a self-righteous corner while the rest of us fight for each other, or you stick with us through blood and pain and sacrifice. Like you swore when you were initiated._

Otabek had been silent again for a long moment, and then he had said, “And what will you do if I refuse?” 

_I will ask Yakov to do it. But—understand, Otabek. I want it to be you. Because you can make it quick. One shot, and he’s gone. No pain._

Another long silence. Otabek kept his face as blank as a stone, but his mind tumbled with nightmare images. Yakov shooting…and missing…shooting…and missing. The look on Yuri’s face as he realized that he was the target. That his gang, his only family, was going to sacrifice him. When Yakov did hit him, it would take him minutes to die. A bullet in his lung, or somewhere against the edge of his heart. He would pass out from the pain before he bled out. And the last worldly sensation he would ever know was pain. And his last feeling, betrayal. 

_No._

There were only two options here; agree to do it himself, or watch someone else do it. JJ was beyond reason. He would not be talked out of this idea. If it came to it, JJ would simply do the deed himself, Otabek knew that. 

Their meeting at dawn with the Skins was as unstoppable as an eclipse of the moon. Nikiforov wanted his love back immediately, and there was no way to stall. 

So. 

Otabek had agreed to be the one to pull the trigger. He trusted no one else to do it. 

_Good. The moment they try to use his life as leverage, understand? And then, my Cobra, we will_ ruin _the Skins._

Otabek comes back to the present, sitting on a piece of driftwood on the beach. The sun is rising in the sky, transforming it into a canvas of radiant light. The day is going to be hot. 

There is a tremendous uproar of voices from the crowd down the beach, and Otabek realizes that the Angels have won the second cockfight. 

They are closer than ever to the unsubstantial mirage of glory. 

His duty now is to spill Yuri’s blood. 

Yuri’s blood. 

Otabek stands up. His head is spinning. He is not sure that he is fully awake. He feels like he has been kicked repeatedly in the stomach. He thinks that he might vomit, or he might fall over. But instead he just takes a few steps through the sand, toward the crowd. 

“Let’s do something a little different this time, Viktor, _shall we_?” JJ purrs. Otabek can hear the disgusting syrupy delight in his voice. He is soaring high as a kite on his power. “For our third spectacle, I won’t ask you to wager a thing. I just want to see you look…a little more human. What do you say?” 

“What do you mean?” Viktor’s low, resigned voice. 

“Come on up onto the stage. And leave your shirt where you are.” 

Otabek reaches the edge of the crowd. As subtly as he can, trying to blend in unnoticed, he nudges and weaves his way to the front of the crowd, on the right of the concrete stage. 

He scans the crowd for Yuri. And yes, there he is. Beautiful as a doll, and fuming with irritation, with hands and ankles tied and Christophe Giacometti’s fingers digging into his shoulders. Jade green eyes fiery with life. A golden cross, hanging from a long chain around his neck, glints red in the sunrise. 

Heartbeat high and painful in his throat, Otabek wraps his finger around the trigger of his gun, and waits for his moment.


	14. The Cobra Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s enough, Leroy! You’ve had your show. We agreed to three events, and that is done. Now call your monster off of Viktor and let Yuuri go. Do it now. Or I start carving up this pixie.”
> 
> Christophe brandishes a jagged-edged knife, rests just the tip of it against Yuri’s cheekbone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: 
> 
> Blood and gore  
> Non-consensual whipping  
> Non-consensual touching (not in erogenous zones) (but Georgi generally being super fucking creepy and making some sexual assault threats)  
> Character death

“No,” Christophe says fiercely. “This has gone far enough. Vitya, you can’t let them do this.” 

Viktor is kneeling on the concrete stage, shirtless, while Georgi Popovich holds up his wrists to bind them together in front of his body. 

“It’s alright, Chris,” he says. “This all will soon be over.” 

His torso is beautiful; a smooth and slender triangle from shoulders to hips. And on his knees with his head bowed, and his hair hanging across his face, he looks like a sculpture of religious piety. 

Georgi turns around and holds out a hand toward JJ, who coils the whip around its handle and tosses it to him. 

Georgi runs his fingertips over the stretch of skin between Viktor’s shoulder blades. “Such beauty,” he murmurs. “And you’re willing to put it on the line like this?” 

Viktor doesn’t answer. 

JJ lifts the plastic crown off of his head for a moment, and strips out of his own shirt. The day’s heat is swelling on the beach, and his body is dewy with sweat. He places the crown back on his head with a flourish and settles back onto his throne, leg hanging over the side, watching bemusedly as Georgi circles Viktor like a raptor circling a mouse. 

Beside JJ’s throne, Yuuri has gone very pale. He watches with fists clenched and his face ferociously protective. But he can’t move more than a step or two in any direction. He can’t even speak, for the gag. 

“Such _beauty_ ,” Georgi murmurs again, crouching down so that only Viktor can hear him. “And I’m the one who gets to ruin it.” 

“What are you waiting for, then?” Viktor says softly. 

Georgi stands up with a dark chuckle and cracks his knuckles. He paces one more circle, stopping this time behind Viktor, and then the whole crowd holds its breath as he stands back, winds up the whip, and cracks it between Viktor’s shoulder blades. 

Viktor flinches, but does not cry out. Yuuri lets out a strangled cry through his gag. 

Georgi’s hooded eyes light up with a rush of excitement. He draws the whip back farther for the next blow, and brings it down faster. The crack as it slaps Viktor’s skin is enough to make most of the Skins—and many the others—cringe or suck in air through their teeth. 

“ _No_!” Leo de la Iglesia presses forward, up to the edge of the stage, as the next blow falls and Viktor gasps with the shock of pain. Georgi lets loose a series of short, sharp strikes to Viktor’s shoulders, and Leo reaches out as though to block the whip with his hands. 

“Get back!” Georgi snarls at him, and JJ tugs threateningly on Yuuri’s chain, punctuating Georgi’s words. “Don’t make us hurt your leader’s piggy, Leo.” 

“Do it to me!” Leo cries passionately. “Do it to me instead! Not Viktor!” 

“Get back, Leo,” Viktor gasps, the last word broken by a groan as Georgi hits him again. 

“But Viktor--!” 

“Do not disobey me!” 

Leo clenches his teeth and turns his face away from the sight of blood on Viktor’s back, tears of devotion stinging his angry eyes. 

Georgi whips Viktor’s back into a bloody mess for several more moments. And then he pauses, his chest heaving. His gaze slides over Viktor’s marred shoulder blades, the exposed back of his neck, the bulging tension of pain in his graceful muscles. He looks stirred, maybe even aroused, by Viktor’s suffering. 

He brushes a strand of silver hair, almost tenderly, from the back of Viktor’s neck. 

“ _Vitya_ …” He murmurs breathily. “—May I call you Vitya?” 

Viktor groans with pain, and Georgi drops to his knees behind him. 

He slides his long, thin fingers lightly over Viktor’s back, dragging down streaks of Viktor’s sweat and blood. 

“If I didn’t hate you so completely, Viktor Nikiforov, I must say I might fall in love with you.” 

His voice is almost a purr as he streaks the blood down Viktor’s lower back, and pauses at the waistline of his jeans. He runs one finger along that line, and pauses just at the cleft of Viktor’s ass, pressing there lightly for a moment. His finger leaves a bloody print. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning over Viktor’s body. His lips brush over one of the bleeding gouges from his whip, and he whispers against it soothingly. “Your pain is…exquisite…” 

His fingertips pry at the gash under his lips, tearing the sore skin at the top of the wound open further. 

Viktor shakes and cries out, the splitting pain almost too much to bear. 

Yuuri’s face has gone deathly pale. He looks like he might be sick at any moment. Yuuri's fists shake, his eyes blaze, and as Viktor collapses forward, unable to hold himself up any longer, Yuuri seizes the only object in his reach; the plastic crown on JJ’s head, and lobs it at Georgi. 

The crown bounces harmlessly off of Georgi’s back, but it is enough to distract him for a moment from Viktor’s limp body. He spins around in time to see JJ leap to his feet and backhand Yuuri across the face. 

Yuuri falls back onto his ass. But before either JJ or Georgi can advance on him, Christophe yells, his voice ferocious, over the rest of the crowd. 

“That’s enough, Leroy! You’ve _had_ your show. We agreed to three events, and that is done. Now call your _monster_ off of Viktor and _let Yuuri go_. Do it _now_. Or I start carving up this pixie.” 

Christophe brandishes a jagged-edged knife, rests just the tip of it against Yuri’s cheekbone. 

Yuri, who had been struggling, falls still, wary of the sharp point. 

His frightened eyes scan the crowd; _where is Otabek?_ He wants to see Otabek. 

But it is JJ’s eyes that find Otabek first. They exchange a purposeful look. JJ’s eyes tell Otabek that _the moment is coming_. And Otabek nods to show that he understands. 

JJ takes a step toward the front of the stage. 

“Oh, but you see, Giacometti, we are not done here. I want everything Viktor has. And when he comes-to, he will give it to me. There is nothing you could do to dissuade me. I will not bargain with you. You have nothing to hold over me.” 

“Is that _so_?” Christophe snarls. His hand tightens around Yuri’s throat, and Yuri splutters. 

“Yes,” JJ says, with the air of a magician about to reveal the miracle at the end of his greatest act. “Because, you see, I am not a man who loses.” 

He turns his head to Otabek. And he nods. 

_Bang._

The sound of the gunshot rings out through the ruins and down the beach. 

There are screams, and for a very short eternity, no one knows who has been hit. It could be anyone; the pain will hit a moment after the bullet. 

Then JJ falls to his knees, a silent rushing in his ears. The bullet pierced through his heart and tore through his body to burst out between the folded Angel wings tattooed on his back. 

He collapses on his side, and blood begins to pool on the concrete beneath him. He spasms with pain, his hand over his chest, as blood begins to pool in his mouth, too. And then he is choking on it, and it tastes like iron. And then his heart has stopped. 

“ _JJ!_ ” 

Isabella’s scream is the loudest of all. She throws herself over his body, screaming and pressing her hands over his wound, as though she can keep the blood, and the life inside him. 

All Hell breaks loose in the crowd, as the gangs fall on each other in a confused battle of rage and panic. Some flee the scene, grasping at each other's hands. And others knock each other into the ashes and roll over each other like waves on Hell’s beach, mad with the desire to hurt, to punish. 

Someone falls over the cages that hold the fighting cocks, knocking the doors open, and the cocks fly out in a fury, flapping their wings, clawing, and jabbing their spurs at the bodies all around them. 

Everyone is yelling. 

Everyone but Otabek. 

He drops his gun and dives for Yuri.


	15. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri scoffs with frustration. He kicks the ashes underneath him. 
> 
> “And what am I supposed to do without you?! You stupid idiot!”
> 
> Otabek reaches down, and they clasp wrists for Otabek to haul Yuri up. Otabek takes a step in closer, and runs his fingers through Yuri’s hair. 
> 
> “You could come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: 
> 
> Suicide attempt (prevented). If you would like to skip this, just skip over the first section and start reading AFTER the first asterisk. You will still be able to follow what's going on.

Minako leaps nimbly onto the stage, grabs Yuuri around the waist, and drags him down behind the now-empty throne. Something shiny—a knife?—flies spinning over their heads. 

Minako pulls her own knife from her sock and hacks at Yuuri’s gag. She tears it off of him and he gasps at his freedom, his chin and cheeks covered in spit. 

“Viktor!” he cries. But Minako catches him around the chest before he can dive at Viktor’s unconscious body. 

“Wait!” she orders. And she grips the handle of her knife with both hands and drives the blade into the back of the throne, hacks at the place where Yuuri’s chain meets the wood. 

Yuuri’s wide eyes are on Viktor’s excruciatingly vulnerable form; unconscious, half naked, and bleeding in the middle of the fight. But Viktor’s henchmen are at his side in the blink of an eye. And as Seung-Gil makes to get at Viktor, Christophe kicks him in the groin and Leo shoves him off the stage. 

Minako rips off a chunk of the chair, freeing Yuuri’s chain. And Yuuri launches himself at Viktor. Christophe is lifting his leader up, hauling him over his shoulder. 

“ _Otabek_!” 

A ferocious yell just a few feet to his right makes Yuuri look around. 

Georgi Popovich is lifting a pistol that had been dropped beside the stage. 

“Otabek Altin, you did this! You _Judas_! You will die for this!” 

Georgi looks around wildly for his target, and finds him; Otabek is fleeing the scene, dodging through the ruins, with Yuri in his arms. Yuri’s ankles are still chained together, but he aims a gun over Otabek’s shoulder, and fires at Guang Hong Ji, who is trying to chase them down. He misses, but the point is made, and Guang Hong ceases his pursuit. 

Otabek is still in the pistol’s range, and Georgi takes aim with a feral snarl of rage. But then Yuuri’s foot connects with his face, and he stumbles backwards, thrown off balance. 

Yuuri doesn’t know who Otabek Altin is, and frankly, he doesn’t care: anything that inconveniences Georgi Popovich is gold to him right about now. He kicks Georgi again, right on the chin, and Georgi drops the gun as he stumbles backwards, and trips over an empty rooster cage. The gun skitters across the stage. 

Yuuri runs after Christophe and Leo as they hurry Viktor away down the beach, his bloody torso hanging limp over Christophe’s shoulder. 

The gun comes to a spinning stop a few feet from the spot where Isabella rocks back and forth with anguish, cradling JJ’s body . “ _No_ ,” she gasps, “no, no, no, no!” 

Her fingers run over his face. He is still warm, but no longer bleeding. She whimpers and presses his forehead to hers. “ _No!_ ” Her fist curls around the crucifix at her breast. 

She looks up and sees the gun, and with a miserable cry of triumph, she grasps for it. 

She kisses JJ on the forehead, her face contorting as she begins to sob. 

Then she puts the gun in her mouth, and screws-up her face, screws-up her will to pull the trigger… 

“ _No!_ ” A fierce yell startles her, and in one sharp snap the gun is jerked out of her mouth and twisted from her wrist. 

Isabella looks up to see the severe, chiseled face of Lilia Baranovskaya. The older woman looks down at her with nostrils flared and eyes blazing. 

“What do you think you are doing, girl?!” Lilia’s words crack like a whip. 

For a moment, Isabella thinks the woman is going to shoot her _herself_. Lilia is an Angel, after all. And she has Isabella helpless in front of her, paralyzed by grief. 

But Lilia points the gun down and away from Isabella, and fires it six times into the concrete, until it is empty of cartridges. Then she tosses it aside, into the cloud of rock dust. 

“You must not think of that again!” Lilia snarls. “Never again, do you hear me, girl?” 

Isabella nods, stunned, tears streaming down her face. 

“We will need every woman with us, _every one_. If we are to put Havenport back together.” 

*

Otabek’s motorcycle is parked at the edge of the ruins. 

He sets Yuri down on the ground beside it and fumbles through one of his saddle bags for his chain-cutting clippers. 

Finding them, he sinks to his knees in front of Yuri and bites the tool through the locks on Yuri’s ankle-cuffs. 

They are both breathing hard with exertion and adrenaline. But there is no one pursuing them, and they have a moment to catch their breaths. They are both bruised, scratched, and covered in ashes. And neither of them has slept in over twenty-four hours. 

But as soon as Yuri has enough air to yell, he rounds on Otabek. 

“What the _Hell_ is wrong with you? Why did you _do_ that?” 

Otabek does not answer immediately. He does not want to tell Yuri what JJ had asked of him. 

“I felt that I had to,” he finally says. “I don’t think that it was right or good, and I never will. But I did what I had to.” 

Yuri looks down and glares ferociously at the ground as he rubs the sore spots where the cuffs chafed his ankles. 

“Georgi wanted to kill you. Everyone will want to, once they realize it was you. You can’t go _home_.” 

“No, you are right. I’d say I have a few hours left to live in Havenport, at most.” 

The red sun is rising in the sky. Full daylight is coming. And with it, the reckoning of the night’s madness. 

Yuri scoffs with frustration. He kicks the ashes underneath him. 

“And what am I supposed to do without you?! You stupid idiot!” 

Otabek reaches down, and they clasp wrists for Otabek to haul Yuri up. Otabek takes a step in closer, and runs his fingers through Yuri’s hair. 

“You could come with me.” 

Otabek’s heart is beating very quickly. He is aware of the magnitude of what he is proposing. And he expects Yuri’s adamant rejection. But still, it is worth the asking. 

Yuri’s eyes widen, suddenly startled and innocent. 

“And leave the Angels?” 

“I know it is a lot to ask.” 

Yuri blinks and looks down. And Otabek braces himself for the “no”. Yuri’s whole world is here. He has never even left town. And he has been a full-fledged Angel, his life’s ambition, for only a few hours. How could he possibly leave it all behind? 

This will be the most painful goodbye of Otabek’s life. He does not want to leave Yuri behind in the dangers of Havenport. He doesn’t want to leave Yuri behind at all. 

But this is Yuri’s choice to make. 

Yuri takes a step forward so that they are chest to chest. Still looking down at the ground, he takes Otabek’s hand. Otabek gazes down at that face, trying to brand every detail of it on his memory: the thin eyebrows, the catlike nose, the Russian-American tilt of his mouth, the shadows under his eyes… those eyes. The unforgettable eyes of a soldier. 

Yuri Plisetsky will haunt Otabek until the day he dies. Even if he forgets everything else he has ever seen in his life, he will remember those eyes. 

Yuri takes a deep breath. And then another. 

And then he looks up at Otabek, and lifts a hand to run his fingers over the buzzed side of his head. 

And when he raises his face to Otabek’s, Otabek is startled to see his expression change. He looks daring, determined, and pleased with himself. It is the expression he gets when he knows he is about to surprise someone with the depth of who he is. When he is about to blow someone’s expectations out of the water. 

He leans in to kiss Otabek. Wraps his fingers into Otabek’s hair and tugs, passionate and charged. 

Otabek reaches up, pleased but a little disoriented, to grip the back of his neck and pull him deeper. 

They kiss with mouths open and hands in each other’s hair. 

Yuri moans in his throat, but pulls away after a few moments. Otabek feels the loss, but lets him go. And Yuri strides over to Otabek’s motorcycle. 

He pulls a helmet out of one of the saddlebags. 

And then he puts it on his head and snaps it under his chin. 

Otabek stares, unable to believe what he is seeing. 

But then Yuri pulls out the other helmet, and tosses it to him. 

“I’m coming with you,” Yuri tells him. “Let’s go.” 

*

As Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist and scoots closer to him on the back seat of the motorcycle, a thought from earlier this evening comes back to him. 

It feels like a long time ago, but it really was only a few hours ago, that he had psyched himself up, palms sweating, to go into the basement of the inn and be initiated. 

He had said it over and over to himself to calm his nerves. 

But now, he really means it. 

He rests his chin on Otabek’s shoulder as Otabek begins to drive them away. 

He plants a kiss on the bone of Otabek’s cheek. 

And he is not afraid. 

*

Christophe, Leo, and Yuuri have gotten Viktor a good distance down the beach. The sounds of the chaos reigning in the ruins is now muted by the murmur of the waves crashing on the sand and the rocky coastline. 

While Leo and Christophe keep watch, Yuuri stands waist-deep in the seawater, his hands cupped behind Viktor’s head and back, holding him afloat in the gentle waves. The two of them are concealed by a little peninsula of jagged rocks that juts out into the sea on their left. 

Viktor is almost weightless in the water. Yuuri feels an overwhelming ache of tenderness, like he is holding a newborn baby. This man—this wounded, weightless thing—built an empire on violence and then gave it up for love. 

He let them rob him, and whip him…tear at his wounds, _for Yuuri._

Yuuri carefully tips Viktor’s head back a little, letting the wavelets lap all of the blood from his hair. 

Viktor is coming-to, stirring in Yuuri’s arms. And when his eyes open, what he sees is a clear blue sky, and Yuuri above him, gazing down at him tenderly. Yuuri is still wearing the huge feathery angel wings that the Angels dressed him in, and the sight of Yuuri with wings causes Viktor a moment of disorientation. 

“Is this Heaven?” 

“No.” Yuuri leans down to kiss Viktor’s forehead, relieved to see him awake. “This is Havenport. How do you feel?” 

“Good. You are alright. _Oh, Yuuri…_ I am so sorry. I put you in so much danger. I thought…I thought that status and power and…and _glory_ were what mattered to me, but I was _so wrong, Yuuri._ I have hurt so many people. People like _you_ , who were just trying to live their lives and get-by here. When I realized that Leroy was going to have me whipped…I was _glad_. I deserved it, and worse, Yuuri…I am so sorry, my love…” 

Yuuri lets him talk. He strokes the wet hair back from his face, and listens tenderly until his tirade of guilt and regret has subsided. 

Then he says, “I knew it was a risk when I started dating you, Viktor. But it was worth it to me, and it still is.” He leans down to kiss him again, and then adds, “And it’s not your fault they took me. So put that out of your head right now.” 

Viktor does not look very reassured, but Yuuri keeps talking anyway. “As for the other stuff you’ve done…we can make it right, Viktor. We have the resources. We can _help_ the other gangs, and work together with them. At least, we can offer, and try. We’ll make amends wherever we can. Make up for the things you’ve taken and the people you’ve hurt. And where we can’t…well, we’ll just have to learn to live with it. And know we tried. And it’ll be _alright_ , Viktor. I _promise_.” 

Viktor smiles a little, reluctantly, and gets his feet underneath him in the water, to stand up and pull Yuuri into a hug. 

“Careful,” Yuuri cautions, afraid that the movement will make Viktor pass out again. 

Viktor leans on him a little, but he is alright. And the two of them stand silently for several minutes, waist deep in the water, just holding each other. 

“Viktor?” 

Leo comes around the jagged rocks with a look of concern on his face. 

Viktor looks up, and Leo points up the beach, toward the town. 

“The Cobra. He has taken the hostage and they are getting away. I can shoot them from here. Shall I do it?” Viktor and Yuuri look where Leo points. 

Otabek and Yuri are riding by on a motorcycle, flying down the little beach road, with purpose, toward the edge of town. 

“No, Leo.” Viktor says. He pulls Yuuri closer, against his heart. “Let them go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to all of you who gave me comments and kudos and support for this fic!!! 
> 
> It ended up being six chapters longer than originally planned, haha, but that's just because I was having so much fun. 
> 
> Keep in touch on tumblr: basilique.tumblr.com
> 
> And thanks for reading! <3 <3 <3


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